Reflections
by KarenD
Summary: Kira, O'Brien and Odo find themselves flung to the far reaches of the galaxy after an accident in the wormhole. Thinking their friends dead, the crew of the station try to cope. Rated T just in case
1. Chapter 1

**_Reflections_**

Chapter One

"Damn!"

After three hours of tossing and turning that would have given the worst insomniac nightmares, Jadzia Dax threw back her bed covers and slipped across to the wardrobe to get dressed.

It had been a quiet day on Deep Space Nine giving her no outlet to vent the pent up energy of seven hosts and one very bored symbiant. She had turned down Kira's offer of a game of Springball and was now regretting it. Sleep was not going to visit her tonight and she would pay for that tomorrow.

Perhaps a stroll along the Promenade would lull her mind and relax her body. If not, a bottle of Spring Wine would have much the same effect and Julian had many a remedy for hangovers.

Throwing on a loose tunic and tying it round with a belt, she took a deep breath and left her quarters, trying to summon the air of serenity that was so much considered to be part and parcel of a Trill..

The lights on the Promenade were dimmed to represent night time. As she stood at a window and watched the wormhole open to welcome a Vulcan research vessel, the spirals of tumbling space reaching out like the caressing arms of a lover, Dax could feel herself calming. It was difficult not to be affected by the beauty of the scene and many a stressed out soul had spent hours meditating in its light..

She felt a heaviness in her eyes and reached up to rub the sleep out of them. Perhaps sleep would not be such a stranger after all.

Stifling a yawn, she turned, all set to return to her bed, and walked straight into a young man she recognized as Ensign Baskell. He was very obviously off duty, his mop of blond hair flopping over his hazel eyes as he staggered away from her.

He was also very obviously drunk.

He executed a ragged bow and smiled sheepishly, the alcohol bringing his broad English accent out even more than usual, "Pardon me, Ma'am. I did not see you there until I had bumped into you and by then it was too late to avoid you…I think."

Dax looked closely at the young man as he swayed before her. Everyone knew that Martin Baskell's wife had just left him. She had decided she was not suited to station life and had returned to Earth some two weeks ago. Baskell had spent most of that time in Quarks, drowning his sorrows in synth ale.

This time, though, it looked like the Ferengi barkeep had served him something a little stronger. He giggled and Dax sighed, raising her eyes to the heavens, "Don't worry about it, Mr. Baskell."

She tried to skirt round him but he stepped in front of her again, "Please, Ma'am, allow me to make it up to you…" he took her arm and spun her round, "…in Quark's. I shall buy the most beautiful woman on the station a drink."

Dax pulled her arm free easily and stared a warning at him, "You, Ensign, will return to your quarters immediately. Tomorrow you will report to Dr. Bashir for counseling."

He scowled like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar and determined to deny that he had done anything wrong, "I don't need counseling from that poncy Doctor."

Dax could feel her good mood disappearing as fast as her need for sleep. She knew the boy had troubles and did not want to add to his problems by putting him on report. She took him by the shoulders and turned him towards the turbolift, "That is an order, Mr. Baskell."

Baskell took a stumbling step towards home before grinding to a halt. Dax saw his head drop as he turned to face her once more. It was as if all his energy had been sucked out. His eyes glistened as he looked up at her, "I'm sorry, Commander…I miss her…"

As his tears fell, Jadzia felt her heart flip over. She had always been sensitive to other people's emotions, even before joining and she could not stand by and watch the man's heart breaking without at least offering comfort.

She walked up to him and put her arm round his shoulders, guiding him once more towards the turbolift and away from the curious eyes that were beginning to watch from around Quark's.

As the door to Ensign Baskell's quarters slid open, Dax noted with some amusement that it had taken just two weeks to transform them from the ordered calm of married quarters to the galactic chaos of a confirmed bachelor pad.

She led the man to the sofa and told him to sit down. He did so - a picture of utter desolation with his blood shot eyes and tear stained face as he watched her go to the replicator and order an extra strong raktajino. She brought it over to him with a quiet smile, "Drink this."

Baskell sniffed and took the mug, sipping slowly as tears threatened to erupt once more. He was aware that Dax was watching him and felt compelled to speak, "I'm so sorry for the way I behaved. It was unforgivable."

Dax sat down opposite him, sinking deep into the chair , "Believe me, ensign, after three hundred years of being propositioned and insulted in one way or another, I am more than capable of coping with a little tipsy groping."

He shook his head and took a deeper drag of the bitter drink, "I had no right to speak to you that way."

Dax sighed, "Apology accepted - stop beating yourself up about it. Drink affects us all that way once in a while."

"But…"

"No buts, Martin. Your wife has just left you. I'd be more concerned if you didn't go off the rails a little."

Baskell made a sound of frustration and annoyance as she spoke, a sound that told her she was missing the point completely. He slammed his half empty mug onto the table, sloshing the coffee over the rim, "You make it sound so casual."

Dax stared at him and he chastised himself inwardly. He hadn't meant to shout - he had no reason to be angry with her and he found himself apologizing again, "I'm sorry, Commander, really I am…but you make it sound like an adolescent break up. She was my wife. We were married for six years - did you know that? Of course you didn't…how could you…" his voice choked as, to his dismay, the tears began to flood his eyes again, "…I think you should go now…"

Dax watched as Baskell tried to regain control over his galloping emotions, hurting with him as the last of his dignity drowned in grief. She slipped out of her chair and knelt in front of him, taking his hand in both of hers, "I didn't mean to belittle what you've been through, Martin. I've been through it myself - from both sides - believe me, I know how you feel. But sometimes relationships just come to an end. It's nobody's fault…"

He sniffed and raised his teary eyes to hers, "That's just it, Commander, this _was _my fault. I knew she was unhappy - she told me often enough. I could have resigned my commission and gone with her, taken her home, but I chose to stay. I put myself and my own needs before her and the promises I made to her."

Dax nodded, "That's true enough. But what about the promises she made to _you_? She knew your career choices when she married you. She knew you were likely to be posted away from Earth." She squeezed his hand, "If she was unprepared for the sacrifices of a life in Starfleet, she should never have made those promises."

"But if I had tried a little harder to make her happy…"

"…She might have stayed? Is that what you think?"

He stared down at his feet and swallowed, "There was nothing here for her and I couldn't give up my career - I just couldn't. I thought she was my life and that that would be enough." Another tear fell and splashed on Dax's hand, "It wasn't." Baskell's voice was almost a whisper as he hung onto her hand like a life line, "We loved each other so much…"

"That you didn't think anything could come between you. I know. Love is short sighted about so many things. If you don't keep your eyes open you end up getting hurt." Dax slid onto the sofa next to him and placed an arm around his shoulders, "You made a choice, Martin. You can either live with that choice and make the best of it or spend the rest of your time here in Quarks until Sisko has you discharged." She reached out and placed a hand under Baskell's chin, tilting it upward until he was looking her in the eyes, "Go and see Dr. Bashir in the morning. Talk it through with some-one and stop taking blame that is not yours to take."

The young officer squared his shoulders and attempted a weak smile, "Thank you, Commander. You've been more than kind…you've been…" his bottom lip trembled and Dax reached out to cradle his head as he sobbed the last of his despair into the shoulder of her tunic.

Minutes later she chuckled quietly to herself as Baskell drifted off to sleep. She wondered what kind of odds Quark would have laid against her spending the night in the arms of a somewhat tear stained junior ensign.

She was still smiling as long awaited sleep finally took her.

Baskell was gone when Dax woke the next morning and she blearily wondered why, "Computer. Time."

The computer chirruped into life, "09:41 hours."

Dax stood up too quickly, "Computer." this had to be a joke, " _Real _time." She couldn't have overslept. She _never _overslept. Curzon spent his _life _apologizing for his tardiness - people could set their chronometers by Jadzia's timetable…the computer, though, betrayed her, "09:41 hours."

"Damn!"

She left Baskell's quarters at a sprint.

It was business as usual as Jadzia Dax leapt off of the turbolift and ran to her station, glaring at Martin Baskell as she passed his console. O'Brien's legs were sticking out from beneath Tactical, sparks and Irish curses flying periodically. Kira and Sisko were in his office, locked deep in conversation over something or other, the Bajoran gesturing wildly as her famous temper threatened to break loose.

Jadzia slid into her seat and ran a quick systems check, forcing herself to calm down, the symbiant within her gently teasing her about falling from a great height when assigning oneself lofty goals.

Why was it that whenever Dax chastised or teased her it always did it with Curzon's voice and Curzon's attitude, "Yeah", she muttered, "like you were never late!"

Curzon chuckled,_ "Yes, child, but _I _never worked myself up into such a state over it. You have to learn to be late with __style_.- especially if you're going to make sleeping with junior officers a regular thing!"

Gritting her teeth, Jadzia shut out the taunting voice as it chuckled to itself and turned her attention to her work.

She sighed in mild annoyance as a second voice disturbed her - but this one belonged to a somewhat nervous looking Martin Baskell as he hovered behind her like a naughty boy outside the headmaster's office, "Commander?"

Jadzia felt her mouth twitch at the wide eyed tension she saw before her, "Thanks for waking me, Ensign."

Baskell reddened, "I meant to But after I had breakfast I sort of forgot you were there. I'm not used to…"

"Yes, thank you, Ensign, apology accepted." She smiled her first genuine smile of the morning, "Are you feeling better?"

Baskell relaxed, "A lot. You've given me some things to think about. I've made an appointment with Dr. Bashir." He smiled and laid a hand on her shoulder, "It'll work out one way or the other. Thanks."

The doors to Benjamin's office trundled open and Jadzia could just see him watching her, with _that _look in his eye. She patted Baskell's hand, "Report to your station, Ensign."

Baskell looked up and saw his commanding officer glaring at him from the lofty heights of his office door and fled.

Jadzia drew back her shoulders and turned her attention pointedly to her console. She knew that Benjamin had a wicked sense of humour. She knew that he enjoyed teasing close friends once in a while. She also knew that he and Dax were closer than most friends get - two lifetimes close. She could sense him as he came to stand behind her, "Good morning, Benjamin."

"Is it?" There was no anger in his voice, just a hint of confusion and she groaned out loud as he called over to Kira, "Major!"

"Yes, sir?"

"Is it a good morning?"

Kira's hands flew over her console and she frowned deeply, "According to the computer it's very nearly afternoon, sir."

Sisko nodded, "Thank you, Major. What time did this shift begin?"

"06:00, sir." Kira was all efficiency as she steadfastly avoided looking at Dax.

Sisko wasn't finished, "Chief?"

Jadzia let her head fall and gently banged it against her console, as O'Brien shot out from beneath Tactical, "Yes, sir?"

"Run a level two diagnostic on the computer, please. If the ever punctual Commander Dax believes it to be 06:00 then 06:00 it must be."

O'Brien was on his feet running a tricorder over the panel before him, "But sir, the computer and I are on good terms now. It would tell me if it had forgotten the time. This is my work being called into question, sir."

Sisko was adamant, "I'm sorry, Mr. O'Brien, but I cannot have this station running at …"

Enough was enough, "All right, I get the point!" Jadzia was standing between the two now chuckling men, "How often am I late?"

Sisko grinned, "Major."

"Yes, sir?"

"How often has Commander Dax been late?"

Jadzia was at Kira's console before the Bajoran could lift a finger, "Nerys, If you touch that panel I shall tell everyone in this room about you, the Bolian ambassador and the anti grav harness."

Kira paused, then smiled at Sisko "I cannot think of a single occasion on which Commander Dax was unjustifiably late." She turned to Dax with as much dignity as she could muster, "And it was the Catian Ambassador, not the Bolian."

The laughter that rippled through Ops was interrupted all too soon by one of the many irritating alarms designed to keep them on their toes, 'Neutrino levels rising,' called Baskell and Sisko and Kira turned together, all joviality forgotten, ready to watch the wormhole flower open.

Instead of enthralling them with the undulating petals and familiar cosmic ballet , the wormhole was heaving and spluttering as if trying to cough up its passenger. The effort was obvious and in seconds the station rocked gently as small shock waves lapped over it. As the shields automatically snapped on and Ops hit red alert, there was a brilliant flash of light from the wormhole as if the prophets themselves had taken a hand and expelled the troublemaker from the Celestial Temple.

The ship that finally came through was a complete mystery to them all. Smooth, flawlessly curved gunmetal gray surfaces with no visible markings reflected Bajor's sun, whilst a number of 'tendrils' stretched back towards the wormhole like grass reeds reaching for a distant sky. It came to a halt almost as soon as the wormhole closed and sat facing the station like a mouse daring a cat to pounce.

Sisko glanced across at Dax, "Hail them."

The Trill frowned at her console, "I've been trying. They're not answering."

"Are you sure they're receiving us?"

"Positive. They just don't seem very chatty."

Sisko peered up at the view screen, "Do you recognize the design?"

Dax gave the screen a cursory glance and shrugged, "It's similar in shape and basic design to the energy being encountered by the Enterprise D at Farpoint Station, but that's as far as it goes. The creature at Farpoint was a biological organism. This has obviously been constructed by someone."

Sisko took a step closer to the view screen as if trying to search out the occupants of the ship, "Any signs of weaponry?"

Dax shook her head, "I'm picking up no power signs whatsoever. Weapons, shields - nothing."

Kira stepped up to join her commanding officer, "They could be in trouble," she offered quietly.

"I agree," said Dax, "I _am _picking up heavy traces of radiation."

"What kind?"

"It looks like Hudson's radiation. There are a few variants but it's as close as it gets to the real thing."

Sisko walked over to her console and peered at the readouts, "Would it be a danger to our people?"

"Prolonged exposure has been known to induce skin cancers, but a brief exposure is easily counteracted. Julian will have the necessary treatment."

As Sisko pondered this, a gruff voice came over the comm. link, "Odo to Ops."

Kira looked up, "Go ahead, Constable."

The shapeshifter's tone was more impatient than usual, "The ship off our bow is causing notable concern on the Promenade. Am I to start manning the lifeboats or will our guest be joining us?"

Kira smiled in spite of herself as Sisko answered, "I don't think lifeboats will be necessary, Odo, but if the new arrivals are bothering you that much you can join Major Kira on the Amazon to offer our assistance. Be at runabout pad C in two minutes."

There was a growl in response, "Understood. Odo out."

Sisko looked down at his first officer as she mentally went through the task that lay ahead of her, "Take it steady with them, Major. They're in a strange place, they're probably afraid. Lets not give this situation reason to escalate."

She squared her shoulders as he spoke, wishing, not for the first time, that he would not insist on telling her her job. Biting her tongue, she gave a brief nod, "Understood."

"And take Mr. O'Brien." Sisko turned away from his First Officer to face the Chief of Operations, "See how much you can find out about the workings of the ship, Chief. We may be able to get it going for them," he smiled, "and we may learn a thing or two from them."

O'Brien smiled and pulled his tool kit from beneath the console, "Aye, sir." He crossed to the turbolift and waited for Kira. Sisko stopped her as she headed after him, "Once you're within transporter range of the ship keep the communications channel open. This may well be first contact, Major. You know the procedure."

"Yes, sir."

She stepped into the 'lift with O'Brien and was gone.

Odo was waiting for them at the airlock, radiating impatience from every changeling pore, "Have they responded to our hails?"

Kira shook her head as she keyed in her password and stepped aside to allow O'Brien entry to the runabout, "They're just sitting there. Either they can't talk to us or they don't want to talk to us."

Odo harumphed deep in his throat, "So we're going out in a barely armed runabout to see whether or not they shoot at us."

Kira smiled at him, "That's about the size of it, Constable. If you're not in the mood for fisticuffs you could always wait for us here."

Odo scowled down at her, "I never indulge in 'fisticuffs', Major."

"Glad to hear it Constable," she held out a hand, inviting him into the vessel. He harumphed once more for good measure and stepped inside.

O'Brien was running through a systems check with Dax via the comm. screen by the time Odo and Kira arrived in the cockpit. As they took their seats, Kira looked up at the science officer, her expression deadly serious, a stark contrast to the gentle banter of only a few minutes ago, "You're sure there's no danger from this Hudson's radiation, Dax? We're not going to bring back some alien bug and give everyone on the station a bad case of sick leave?"

Dax shook her head, "It's not Hudson's exactly, but the similarities are so close, it has to be from the same family. A quick anti-bacterial shot and you'll all be fine. But don't take any silly risks, Major. I have never seen Hudson's in this quantity before and it's better to be safe…"

Kira gave a curt nod and, at O'Brien's thumbs up, took the runabout up and away from the station.

This was her favourite part of any journey, be it in a runabout or onboard the Defiant. Passing the graceful arc of DS9's pylons as they glinted in the starlight, reaching like arms to pull her back into their safe embrace always gave her a feeling of home. At first she had rejected it, refusing to believe that this Cardassian monstrosity could ever make her feel welcome. Some deeply buried part of her saw it as a betrayal of all the Bajorans who had died in the cells on that station, who had suffered at the hands of Bajor's overlords. Now, though, she knew that those lost souls had found their way into the arms of the Prophets and were smiling down on them as they wrested their home from Cardassia's crushing grip and made it their own once more.

There was no betrayal, no shame to be harboured. So she enjoyed the gifts of the Prophets one more time as a free Bajoran, before duty called on her to be a soldier once more.

They cleared the station, O'Brien watching the readouts like a hawk, Kira intending to halt the runabout just on the edge of transporter range and Odo staring at the unknown ship as it grew larger in front of them, wondering whether this could be another trap on the part of his people to harm all he held dear.

The comm. channel remained open in accordance with Sisko's orders and Dax and O'Brien were exchanging information as the runabout flew closer to its target. Kira stole a quick glance at the engineer and saw him frowning, "Problem, Chief?"

O'Brien scratched his head, "I dunno. According to the information we have on Hudson's radiation there should be no discernible increase in heat output, but the temperature on that ship's hull has been rising by point eight of a degree every three minutes."

Kira looked up at the screen, "Dax?"

The serene confidence that was all part of Jadzia Dax didn't waver as she checked and re-checked her console, "You have at least 80 minutes before we need to worry. That should give you plenty of time to find any survivors."

Sisko stepped in front of her, his expression stern, "Let's get this finished as quickly as possible, Major. The field of play has already changed too much for my liking."

"Yes, sir…" The comm. screen flickered then dissolved in a haze of static and her head snapped round to O'Brien, "What happened?"

"I don't know. It could be a system's malfunction - the Amazon is due for an overhaul - but…"

Kira cut him off and hit the runabout's reverse thrusters, "I know. There's too much about this I don't like. I'm pulling us back 10,000 kilometres."

Expecting the stalled ship to start receding as they reversed, Odo was surprised when it continued to increase in size as the runabout flew steadfastly onwards. He turned to Kira and found her jabbing at the controls, "Major?"

"There's no response. Chief, the helm is down."

O'Brien was out of his seat and at her side in a second, running every systems check he knew, but finding nothing wrong. He shook his head in frustration, "We should be reversing at full power. There is nothing wrong with these instruments."

"Then why are we locked out?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"…ko to Amazon, are you reading me?" The screen crackled back to life and they found Sisko staring down at them, relief awash over his features, "We thought we'd lost you there, Major. Status."

Kira held up her hands in exasperation, "We have negative helm control. We are still heading towards the alien craft and its exterior temperature is continuing to increase. A little help would be much appreciated…"

"…much appreciated…"

A burst of static cut off Kira's words and Sisko glanced in irritation at Dax as if his annoyance could clear the channel. The look of pure horror on the Trill's face cut off any rebuke he may have made. She was on her feet in a second,

'Benjamin, you have to get them out of there! Now!'

The ship loomed large before the tiny runabout as Dax's panicked cry crackled across the comm. line. Alarms blared and they all felt a marked increase in temperature as the stalled vessel began to emit a physical glow.

Kira scanned the controls before her for the tenth time, still unable to find a problem, then snapped her head round to O'Brien, "Chief?"

The engineer's unruly mop of hair was plastered to his face as he entered command after command into his console, "There's been a massive output of power, but I can't tell where it's coming from. I don't even recognize the wave patterns."

"Is that what's affecting the controls?"

His eyes were wild as his gaze met hers, "Must be."

Odo was frantic. He hated feeling so inadequate, yet knew that his limited knowledge would be of little use. He looked up at the fluctuating screen, at Sisko's face, it's eyes radiating concern held in check even through the interference, "What about a tractor beam?"

Even as he said it, Odo knew the answer and almost flinched as O'Brien snapped, "At this range!"

The Changeling lowered his head and studied the readouts before him. He didn't know what was coming, but knew that he had a greater chance of surviving it than his fragile companions. He didn't want to think about their deaths - didn't want to survive knowing that he was completely unable to save them. A stray thought wandered through his muddled mind, "Could we eject the warp nacelles?"

O'Brien stared at him and Odo almost apologized, "Would it give us any momentum - take us out of range…"

The Chief beamed at him, "Of course it bloody would - we're not seeing the wood for the trees…" his hands flew over his console, "look for the obvious…" The runabout lurched and O'Brien's smiled vanished, "It's not working! The controls…"

Kira glared at him, "Then we need to do it manually."

O'Brien snorted, "With all due respect, Major, have you any idea what that involves?"

Her eyes flashed as the strain began to show, "No…"

"You'd need four men for each engine, in space suits with more tools than we have and more time than we have…"

Kira let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, her voice a whisper, "Point taken, Chief, sorry…"

An alarm blared on O'Brien's console and the runabout juddered in sympathy, almost throwing them all from their seats. Gripping onto the console for support, Kira was aware of Sisko's urgent voice calling to her, but pushed it to the back of her mind. If he had a solution she would learn of it soon enough. The little ship was bucking and rearing like a tethered Harracat and she focused all her concentration on keeping it steady and not colliding with the strange vessel which loomed like a Colossus before them. She didn't know whether the runabout was even responding to her efforts but, unconsciously echoing Odo's thoughts, she had to do _something_.

O'Brien swore loudly and she turned to face him, the vibrations of the deck beneath her making her mildly nauseous, "O'Brien?"

He was shaking his head, "Ah, dammit." The Irishman looked up at the Bajoran and she was shocked to see tears in his eyes, "the power…there's too much power…" she could see the readout from where she was and knew what it meant. The comm. screen crackled and she could see Sisko again, Dax, wide eyed and pale in the background. The stalled ship began to roll and Kira heard O'Brien behind her, "…chance to say goodbye…"

As the power readings left the scale and the ship started to breakup before the helpless runabout, Kira looked straight at Sisko, needing his strength for the journey ahead, needing to see The Emissary one last time. She whispered a prayer, hoping it didn't sound too much like a plea, "Oh, Prophets…"

There was an explosion and everything went black.

The line cleared for a second and the Major's face loomed down at them as she fought redundantly with the runabout controls. O'Brien said something in the background, but Sisko could not make it out. Kira looked up at the screen for just a second and he thought he saw fear in her eyes as she looked straight at him, 'Oh, Prophets…'

Her remaining words were never heard as the strange ship exploded in an inferno of light brighter than Bajor's sun.

The comm. line went dead and when Sisko's eyes had recovered from the glare, he saw that nothing was left.

The ship and the runabout were gone.

He drew himself up to his full height as a deathly silence crept through Ops, "DS9 to Amazon… DS9 to Amazon, respond please, Major."

Ensign Baskell gazed at him from his station, "There's no-one there, sir. They've gone."

Dax made a small sound in her throat and stared at the screen like a rabbit caught in headlights. Sisko felt his hands clench into fists, "Sisko to Security."

"Go ahead, Sir."

"Ready the Severn for a search and rescue at both ends of the wormhole."

"Aye, sir."

"Inform me as soon as you find _anything_. Understood?"

"Understood, sir. Security out."

Fighting the urge to slam his fist into the nearest console, Sisko looked up and found every pair of eyes in Ops fixed on him. He took a deep breath and looked at them all in turn, "I want full reports from everyone. I want to know what that ship was and why it exploded. If the worst has happened, Starfleet and Bajor are going to want an explanation and fast."

He watched as they set to work. There was none of the usual cheerful chatter, none of the brisk, easygoing efficiency - they just worked quietly and didn't say a word.

He crossed to Dax and placed a hand on her shoulder. She jumped and he saw that the colour had drained from her face. Releasing her, he nodded towards his office, "Commander…"

Once the doors had closed on the unnatural quiet of Ops, Sisko allowed his breath to escape in a long sigh as he slumped in his chair and looked at Dax. She was standing to attention in front of his desk, fighting an inner battle between grief and duty.

"What happened, Dax?"

Duty won out and she swallowed and looked him straight in the eye, "I'll need to study the logs closely. There was no sign that that ship was going to explode. It had no discernible damage."

He leant back in his chair, "Then why?"

She shook her head, "If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say it self destructed. There was a massive power build up before the end…" She trailed off and looked at her feet, "…I'm sorry."

Sisko shook his head, "There was nothing you could have done, Old Man."

Dax did not lift her head and he thought for a moment that she would give in to tears. They had both lost colleagues before, but this all seemed so needless, "Study the logs, Dax. Take as long as you need, but find me some answers."

She nodded briskly, still refusing to meet his eye. He had never seen her like this and it bothered him. She turned to leave just as the comm. link chirped for attention, "Runabout Severn to Sisko."

He beckoned to Dax, inviting her to wait, "Go ahead."

The voice on the other end was cautious, almost reluctant and Sisko knew that the news would not be good, "Just initial impressions, sir. We've already found a fair amount of debris from the unknown ship. It's being taken to Cargo Bay 3."

"And the Amazon?"

"We've detected what seems to be part of the warp engine. It's pretty badly wrecked, sir…"

"Understood. Anything else?"

"No, sir. We've still got to search in the gamma quadrant, but…well, "

"I know. Keep me informed. Sisko out."

Neither spoke for a full minute as they drank in the finality of the Severn's report. Finally, Sisko reached forward and plucked his baseball off of its stand, rolling it over in his hands before turning his attention back to Dax, his eyes reflecting her sorrow, his voice low, almost a whisper, "Contact Bajor. Tell them we will be needing a replacement liaison officer. I'll inform Starfleet."

Dax nodded and turned to leave, but Sisko stopped her again, "This wasn't your fault, Jadzia. There was nothing you could have done."

She barely acknowledged that he had spoken and he sighed deeply as the doors slid shut behind her.

For a moment he was at a loss for what to do next. Three of his colleagues - three of his _friends_ - were dead and he was afraid to let it sink in, afraid to face the reality of the situation in case it interfered with his duty.

"Dammit!" With a growl of rage he threw the baseball at the wall as hard as he could, only vaguely aware that every head in Ops had turned to face his office door.

Breathing deeply, he unclenched his fists and reached out to his console and opened a line to Starfleet.

Still interested? Want to read Chapter Two? I'm going to write it anyway, but I'd love to know what you think of it so far. Comments? I live for feedback...good or bad. Talk to a lonely wouldbe writer here.


	2. Chapter 2

For Disclaimer, see title page

_**Reflections**_

Chapter Two 

The comm. line to Starfleet closed with a small beep but Benjamin Sisko kept his gaze locked on the blank screen for a moment longer. The tasks which lay ahead of him were not enviable. Never mind having to keep the station running without the best engineer in the quadrant or the Security Chief to beat them all. Never mind having to deal with the Bajoran government without the help of the only woman since Jennifer to have intimidated him, the only first officer he could imagine at his side. The task he dreaded most was telling Keiko O'Brien that she was a widow, that she was alone in the universe with two small children to raise. That her husband had lost his life, not in some heroic battle to save his fellow officers, but in a pointless accident at the mouth of the wormhole with only the Prophets as his witness.

He rubbed his eyes, uncharacteristically tired and completely unsure of what to do next. Whenever personal crisis' had reared their ugly head in the past, he had been able to call on Dax and talk it through with the Old Man. One glance through his office window into Ops and he knew that was not an option this time. Jadzia Dax was slumped in her seat, her hands clenched into fists, eyes gazing, unseeing, at the screen before her. He knew that she was eating herself up with guilt and he knew that it was up to him to bring her out of it. He just did not know where to start.

Pushing himself up out of his seat, he left his office and walked slowly down the steps to Dax's console. She barely acknowledged that he was there, her eyes still glazed as they watched data stream past on the screen without taking in a word. He placed a hand on her shoulder, "I have to go and see Keiko, Commander, you're in charge."

He was in the turbolift before she raised her head and attempted a smile, "Aye, sir."

The turbolift disappeared from view, swallowed up by the gaping maw of the station's innards, and Dax let her shoulders slump again. She glanced briefly at the screen, realising that she could not remember a single fact that had appeared there in the last half hour and not really caring. She let her eyes close as tears threatened to take over, and felt the symbiant within her stir,

_"You're not the only one hurting."_

The voice wasn't harsh or taunting as it had been earlier and she recognised it as Audrid, the more maternal of the past hosts. She clamped her lips tight shut, knowing she had to answer, but also aware that non-Trills found the one-way conversations between host and symbiant disturbing. She cleared her mind and tried not to be rude, "What?"

_"Look around you, child, there is a whole room full of people here who need to grieve and don't know how"_

"That's only natural."

_"Is it?"_

"Of course it is. But they're good officers. They'll do their jobs and when their shifts are over, they will grieve in their own way."

She could almost see Audrid nodding, _"So by what right do you sit here making a bad situation worse?"_

Dax frowned, "I don't understand…"

_"Yes you do. Young Benjamin carries the burden of these tragic circumstances on his shoulders and what do you do?"_

"I…"

_"Do you go to him and offer to share the load? No, you sit here like a lost little girl and cry to yourself. Why are you any different to these other 'good officers'?"_

Jadzia's mind tried to answer, but she found that being choked with tears meant in mind as well as body and she could not get a response clear in her head. She wiped a hand across her eyes and bit her bottom lip, stabbing furiously at the buttons before her as Audrid continued.

_"I know the answer already, child. We all do, we can feel it. Guilt is hard to swallow when it is deserved. You will choke on it if you take it for no reason."_

"…leave me alone…"

_"Don't do this to yourself, Jadzia…"_

"Damn." Blocking out the last of Audrid's pleading, Dax slammed her palm onto the console, hitting the reset button a little too hard and lowered her eyes as those around turned to look at her.

Deep inside her an insistent voice called for attention, but was ignored.

Sisko could hear Kirayoshi crying from the far end of the corridor - that insistent infuriated cry that spoke of a hungry belly not being filled quickly enough. He smiled to himself as he thought of Jake at that age and the spark of pure temper that always surfaced in the child at meal times. If Yoshi grew into half the man Jake had become - a little piece of his father and a huge chunk of his mother - he was sure the Chief would be proud….the smile vanished - at least Jake had clear memories of his lost parent. Little Yoshi would never have that comfort.

He stopped outside the door of the O'Brien's quarters aware that he had no idea what to say. How do you tell a family that their husband and father is dead?

He tapped the door chime and waited.

Keiko O'Brien's harassed voice called, "It's open."

The doors hissed apart to admit him and Sisko stood on the threshold and gazed at the scene before him.

Kirayoshi was propped up in a high chair, pink faced and stiff legged with temper as Keiko tried to coax him into eating some indefinable mush on a spoon. Sisko sympathised with the boy - appetising was not a word often used by the manufacturers of baby food.

Molly was lying on the floor by the couch putting the finishing touches to yet another drawing - the results of her previous efforts scattered around her. She looked up at him and beamed a gap toothed grin, "Hullo, Captain. Daddy's not here, he's at work."

The father in Sisko took over and he knelt down beside her and ruffled her hair, openly admiring her art work, "I'm here to see Mummy."

Keiko's head snapped round and her gaze locked with his. Without a word, she lifted Yoshi from his high chair with one hand and gathered up Molly's drawings with the other. The girl frowned at her, "I'm not finished yet, Mommy."

Keiko smiled down at her daughter, ignoring Sisko, "Honey, I need you to take Yoshi over to Mrs. T'Prell's for a while. Would you do that for me?"

Molly took her brother and clumsily balanced him on her hip, "Do I have to stay with him?"

"Yes, please."

Molly sighed as she walked to the door, "He's getting awful heavy, you know. You should teach him to walk."

With an awkward wave to the Captain she carried her brother away.

Sisko smiled fondly as the doors closed then turned to Keiko. She was standing almost at attention before him, her eyes wide, "Keiko…"

"He was on the runabout, wasn't he? The one that blew up. Everyone on the Promenade saw it…"

She had said it all for him and Sisko was ridiculously grateful to her for making his task easier. There would be no stuttering speeches, no wishing he was somewhere else - _anywhere _else - he simply nodded, "Yes, he was."

She took a shuddering breath, "We came home straight away. I knew that if you or Nerys showed up within the hour then he was on it."

"Major Kira was on it, too. And Constable Odo…"

She sank onto the couch, "Oh, God…"

Sisko sat beside her and placed his hand over hers as they twisted in her lap, "Keiko, I'm sorry…"

She didn't look at him, "How did it happen?"

He relaxed ever so slightly as they entered known territory, "We're not sure. We just know that when the other vessel exploded the runabout was caught in the blast."

"Is there any chance they survived?"

He shook his head sadly, "We found the remains of a warp nacelle…"

She jumped to her feet as if unable to listen to any specific details and Sisko fell silent, watching her as she pottered about the room picking up toys and straightening pictures that did not need straightening until finally running out of things to do. She turned to him, her eyes too bright, her smile grotesquely false, "Can I get you anything, Captain?"

He crossed to her and laid his hands on her shoulders, "Keiko…"

Her head dropped and her voice was tiny, "…I don't know what to feel…"

"I know." His mind flipped back to the time of Jennifer's death and the long ride in the escape shuttle, his son in his arms, watching as the Saratoga erupted in the distance taking his wife, and everything he loved about her, with it. He drew her into a hug, "Believe me, I know."

He raised a comforting hand to stroke her hair, ready to support her when the expected flood of tears spilled forth, but they never came. Her shoulders stiffened and she pulled away from him, eyes wide in momentary panic as her mind latched on to something to talk about - _anything_ other than the fate of her husband, "I should start packing…" she began a second circuit of the room, hands searching for things to gather up, "Miles' replacement will be wanting the quarters."

She sounded for all the world as if the Chief had finally handed in one of his oft threatened transfer requests and Sisko sighed and reached out to take her arm, recognising in her the way he had refused to accept that Jennifer was gone, "Keiko…"

She shook him off, "It's such a shame. Molly was starting to love Bajor. She speaks quite a bit of the language now. Did you know that?"

He folded his hands carefully behind his back, "The Chief mentioned it, yes."

She opened a closet and hefted a suitcase in her arms, "It's a lovely place to grow up now the Cardassians are gone. I know Nerys was looking forward to taking Yoshi to Dakhur Province. Kind of to show him off, you know?" The suitcase hit the couch and she flicked the catch open, "I know she never came across as the maternal type, but she was a fantastic Aunt. I bet you didn't know she had a soft side, did you?"

Sisko allowed Kira's image to float before his mind's eye and thought of their many discussions, differences of opinion - hell, they had almost come to blows on more than one occasion - as the terrorist that dwelt at the heart of her had clashed with the regimented officer nurtured by years in Starfleet. Then he remembered her valiant attempt to hold back tears after the death of Li Nalas, the way she had broken down at Bariel's funeral, the open love which shone from her eyes whenever Shakaar had come to the station, "I knew" he said, "I just wish I had seen it more often."

Keiko placed a bundle of baby clothes in the case and turned to fetch more, but Sisko stepped in front of her and took a firm grip on her hand, forcing her to look at him, "You can stay here for as long as you like, Keiko. This is your home - I'm not going to turn you away."

"But the regulations…"

"Damn the regulations. This is _my _station and Starfleet and the Bajoran Government will have one hell of a fight on their hands if they try to wave the rule book at me now."

She smiled up at him, a weary smile that shone with threatening tears and clutched the clothes to her chest, "Thank you."

They stood in silence for a moment, Sisko unsure of what to say as he watched Keiko battle with her feelings and saw her pent up grief bubbling near the surface. He took her hand once more and held it tight between his own, "He was a good man, Keiko."

And finally the tears came as she collapsed in his arms with a heart wrenching wail and cried the anguished lament of some-one who had lost everything they held dear.

The duty shifts were changing by the time Sisko left Keiko, his uniform front damp with her tears. She had fallen asleep in his arms and he had carefully moved out of her tight embrace and covered her with a blanket. A quick trip to the T'Prell quarters had ensured that Molly and Yoshi would be taken care of until their mother was ready to break the news to them. That was one task only Keiko could undertake and he did not envy her.

Not wanting to return to Ops just yet, he let his feet lead him where they would and found himself outside the infirmary. One of the nurses glanced up as he came in and smiled encouragement. The DS9 grapevine, it seemed, had passed the news like wild fire from the supposed security of Ops to the depths of the Promenade. He returned her smiled and nodded towards Julian Bashir's office, "Is he in?"

"Yes, sir. Go ahead."

Julian Bashir looked up as Sisko entered his office and the Captain saw that he was holding a pair of antiquated goggles, a prop from the Battle of Britain hologame he and O'Brien often enjoyed.

Bashir shrugged, "I've seen more people die than I care to remember. I've even sat and cried over some of them. Why do I feel so empty now?"

Sisko sighed, "You're the doctor. You don't need me to answer that."

His business-like tone made Bashir look up, "Is something wrong?"

Sisko nodded, "I've just broken the news to Keiko. She's sleeping now, but …"

Julian got up and readied his medical kit, glad for the distraction from his own morbid thoughts of mortality, "I'll drop by straight away. If nothing else she may be glad of the company."

Sisko shook his head, "Why not give her an hour or two, Doctor. Let her sleep while she can."

Bashir hesitated, "Certainly - if you think that's best. I couldn't do much more than give her a sedative anyway." He placed his bag back on the desk, at a sudden loss for what to do, then picked up the goggles again, "We must have played out this scenario a hundred times and we only managed to win once."

Sisko smiled, "Once?"

"We had to cheat in the end. The Chief rewrote the program so that the axis planes were only armed with catapults" He made a bow and arrow gesture with his hands, "Tiny little hand held things with pebbles for ammunition." They both chuckled and Julian sighed as he sat down, "Even then they nearly beat us and Quark reported us to Odo for damaging his property."

Sisko laughed and clapped his hands together, "I remember. You had to get Dax to help you change the program back because Odo said he'd throw you both in the Brig if it wasn't repaired within the hour."

"And Upper Pylon Four went down just as Mrs. T'Prell went into labour so neither of us had the time. Dax was fantastic…"

"You still owe her five strips of latinum for that."

Julian grinned, "I tried to persuade her to do it for love, but…well, I think she's been hanging round with the Ferengi for too long. She just quoted the 111th Rule of Acquisition at me and told me she only accepted cash."

Sisko chuckled once more then sobered as he sank into the spare chair, "It's Dax I'm here to talk about."

"What's wrong?"

He got up out of the chair again and paced the floor as he spoke, "She has taken the accident pretty hard. I think she feels responsible."

Bashir's tone was deadly serious as the doctor took over, pushing the playboy aside, "Was she?"

"No." he sat down again, "It was an _accident_. Judgement calls were made on all sides. There were people to help and we tried to help them. That's what they pay us for."

Bashir nodded, letting his Captain talk through events in the hope they would become clearer to both of them, "Then why does she feel she's to blame?"

He saw Sisko clench his fists in frustration, "It's that damn Trill logic again. I used to think Vulcans were annoying. At least a Vulcan would accept this for what it is - a tragedy that no-one could have prevented. But Dax…" he sat down again, "…Curzon admitted to me once that every joined Trill looks on their non-Trill associates as children. He said they never lose that sense of feeling responsible for everyone around them. So if something goes wrong when there's a Trill involved they subconsciously shoulder the blame."

Bashir frowned, "That's ridiculous."

"To you or I, yes. To Jadzia…" he could picture her now, her usually immaculate figure stooped in grief, and fought down a wave of fear. The day had started so well, surrounded by his friends and colleagues, at ease with life. In the space of a few hours his world had collapsed. He had lost three friends to tragedy and felt as if he were losing a fourth. He couldn't put into words how much he needed the young doctor's help. Bashir had pulled more miracles from his bag of tricks than Sisko could count. He hoped to God he would have one to spare now, "I don't know what to do to help her."

Julian watched his commanding officer battle with his anger at feeling so inadequate. He was used to being in control of these situations and Bashir found it ironic that Sisko's usual source of sage advice, the person who, for years, had prodded him in the right direction was at the heart of his problem now. He got to his feet, "Would you like me to talk to her?"

Sisko shrugged, "I don't know whether it would do much good. I've known Dax for years. I've seen Curzon live through situations you and I can barely imagine and always come out smiling at the end. I never knew him to lose control like this. I know he had regrets about things he had to do, but I never saw him so wrapped up in guilt."

"Are you saying that this is Jadzia's problem alone - not the synbiant?"

"That's what I'm saying. Can you help her?"

Bashir reached out and pressed a few buttons on his medical console, frowning at the information before him, "I've said it before - this station needs a professional counsellor. I don't have the relevant experience to make an accurate judgement on anyone's state of mind. Psychology was never my strongest field."

"But you're still the closest thing we have to an expert."

Bashir flicked off the console and gazed at Sisko, "With all due respect, sir, as the closest thing we have to an expert, I prescribe a lot of listening and understanding from her friends. Jadzia is strong, but she will not get through this if she thinks she is alone. Talk to her - _listen _to her. " he allowed himself a quiet smile, "Think of all the times she has acted as station agony aunt. O'Brien's marriage, Odo's never ending battle to understand the world around him, Kira - well, just being Kira,. You and I…did she ever drag you along to one of Quark's all night Tongo sessions?"

Sisko's eyes lit up, "_ Did_ she? I was in a foul mood and I had a double shift to pull the next day. But she insisted I go along to 'unwind'."

"And did you?"

Sisko shook his head as he saw where the doctor was heading, "Yes," he whispered, "We stayed up until 06:00 drinking spring wine and taking Quark for every strip of latinum we could get our hands on. She was talking to me on and off for the first hour - nonsense talk, nothing important - but by the time she finished I wanted to tell her everything. Every little thing that was bothering me. After we left I realised I had never spoken to Curzon that way - never could." He grimaced, "God, did I really talk about my private life in front of Quark?"

Bashir laughed out loud, then looked at Sisko intently, "Don't you think she deserves a little of that patience from you? If she won't talk to you, just be there for her."

Sisko got to his feet and walked to the door, "I'll give it a shot, Doctor, thank you." He turned as he left, "Will you be attending the memorial?"

Bashir nodded, "21:00 hours in front of the temple. I'd like to say a few words if that's at all possible."

"Of course."

Sisko left sick bay, focused, refusing to meet any of the gazes which turned his way. He slapped his combadge, "Computer, locate Commander Dax."

"Commander Dax is in the Replimat."

He turned on his heel, retraced his steps and eventually spotted her. She was in the furthest corner, nursing a cold mug of raktajino. She did not look up as he took the seat opposite, just stared at her drink, gripping the mug with whitening knuckles. Elbows on the table, he rested his chin on his fists and watched her, waiting until she was ready to speak.

After a long moment, she gazed up at him, eyes brimming with tears, "I'm not going."

"To the memorial?"

A whisper, "Yes."

"Why not?"

One of the tears escaped and traced a path down her cheek, "Because it's my fault."

Sisko leant forward, "It was an accident. How could it possibly be your fault?"

"Because I told Kira it was safe. Because I was arrogant enough to assume that I could judge the reaction of a totally new object just because it was similar to something I had seen before."

He reached out and took her hand, "You're not making sense, Old Man. You're taking blame where there's none to be taken."

"That's what everyone says…"

"Then listen to them."

"I should have told them to wait…"

"We had to check for survivors."

Her tears were flowing freely now, unashamed, and she made no attempt to wipe them away, just shook off his comforting hand as if it had slapped her, "Leave me alone, Benjamin."

"Dax…"

His combadge beeped, "Cargo Bay 3 to Sisko."

He thumped it in irritation, "Sisko here, go ahead." He felt a twinge of regret as he heard the young woman on the other end of the line swallow nervously. Bawling out his junior staff was going to get him nowhere.

"Um, this is Ensign Andrews, sir, you wanted to know when we had finished the salvage operation by the wormhole," she hesitated, unsure, "Um, well, we're finished, sir."

"Thank you, Ensign. Get an engineering crew down there and have them go over _everything_ with a fine toothed comb."

"Yes, sir. Cargo Bay 3 out."

He looked back to Dax, watching as she took a deep mouthful of the cold, foul tasting coffee. She was in danger of blocking him out again, his words not reaching her, so, with a whispered apology to Bashir and his pleas for patience, he tried a different tack, "Do you know Ensign Andrews?"

She shrugged, "Barely."

"Well I do. She is one of Odo's most promising deputies." Dax seemed to be ignoring him now and he slammed his fist onto the table, making her look up, "For the last two years she has taken every double shift going, every bum assignment that needs to be completed. She spends her free time reading up on Federation Law, Klingon Law, Bajoran Law…hell, if there was a book on Dominion Law, she would have read it. Odo told me that he fully expects her to be offered _his_ job within five years. She was as close to him as anyone on this station, but do you think she'll be crying into her coffee tonight?" He saw Dax's eyes squeeze tight shut as she tried to block him out and he leaned closer to her, his voice a growl, "She would _never _dishonour him in that way. He was her _friend _and she'll be at that memorial no matter how bad she feels. Because that's what friends do."

He pushed back his chair, deliberately letting it scrape on the floor, knowing he finally had her full attention, "There's nothing we can do for Kira and the others, Jadzia. They're gone. But we can show our respects and mourn them and find out why they died. Then we can remember them and drink to them." He laid a hand on her shoulder as she looked up at him properly for the first time, "Life goes on, Old Man. You of all people should know that."

Then he walked out of the Replimat and left her alone.

Want to know what happens next? Chapter Three will be up soon.

Comments? I live for feedback...good or bad. Talk to a lonely would-be writer here.

I'll provide the wine and cheese.

By the way, the111th Rule of Acquisition is: "Treat people in your debt like family - exploit them." Just in case you were wondering.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Martin Baskell hit the Promenade by 20:15 hours and smoothed down his dress uniform as he took in the scene around him. The usual multi-cultural hustle and bustle of life at this cross-roads in space was muted in the extreme. A small area of staging had been set up outside Quark's and all the stall holders were shutting up shop as their customers began to gather in respectful silence for the memorial service. He eased his way past the early evening queues at the Replimat and ordered a black coffee, leaning against the replicator to drink it when he saw that no seats were free.

Some-one tapped him on the shoulder, "Martin?"

He turned and found himself eye to eye with the nervy Ensign Andrews and smiled as she dropped her gaze self-consciously, "Hello, Jill." He took in her immaculate appearance, auburn hair swept back from her face, her spotless uniform, her Heroic Conduct medal gleaming at her breast, "I take it you're here for the service?"

She nodded, "I was hoping to be."

"Hoping to be? You and Odo were like two peas in a pod. You're almost certain to be offered his job."

She glared at him, her blue eyes like chips of ice, "I don't want his job!"

Baskell frowned. He and Andrews had been through the Academy together. They had survived a Cadet Cruise which ended abruptly at Wolf 359 as the Harriman disintegrated under a Borg weapon. Andrews had risked life and limb to get _every single person_ from sickbay into the life pods and then stood waiting for death when there was no room for her. The Captain had tried to swap places with her, his badly broken leg pooling blood on the deck as he dragged himself to the door, but Andrews had hit the launch button and blasted him to safety, making her peace with whichever deities she believed in before the Chekov beamed her out just as the deck vanished beneath her feet.

At the Presentation Ceremony, as the medal was pinned to her shirt, Captain Okuda had jabbed her in the chest with his walking stick and told her to forget the "bloody Kirk complex" and concentrate on staying alive in future. Andrews had looked him straight in the eye and told him to practice what he preached.

By the end of the evening, Okuda had bet every officer in the room that Andrews would make Captain by thirty.

Jill Andrews, though, was a quiet soul, never truly at ease with herself, always doubting the obvious talents she had been blessed with. She had no desire to be Captain of anything. Fear of unwanted responsibility had sent her running headlong into the first deep space posting that came up. Anything to keep her away from the Academy and a red uniform that would never really fit. She had spent the last six months under the parental wing of Constable Odo and had blossomed into an outstanding security officer. Everyone on the station respected her and, just as Odo never found it necessary to fire a phaser, Jill had been known to deal with drunken Klingons without having to raise her voice.

For her to snap over such an innocuous comment was unheard of. Baskell placed a hand on her shoulder, "Hey, I'm sorry. I meant no offence. It's just that…"

She waved him off, "No, _I'm_ sorry, Martin. Um, I have things on my mind." She returned his smile, "You're looking better than last I saw you. Did you go to Doctor Bashir like I told you to?"

Baskell grinned, "I had a run in with Commander Dax - she all but ordered me there."

Andrews reached out and helped herself to a mouthful of his coffee, pulling a face at the bitter taste, "She's a good officer. Odo used to talk about her all the time." She smiled, lowering her head as she returned his cup to him, "Did you know that she used to break into his quarters and move his furniture around?"

Baskell choked, "You're kidding?"

"I'm not. She would go in and move everything a fraction of an inch to the left or a fraction of an inch to the right. It used to drive him crazy."

Baskell shook his head, "How could he possibly tell?"

Andrews gave him a sideways look, "You're kidding, right? I think he used to enjoy it deep down. Not that he'd ever admit it."

They laughed quietly, ignoring the admonishing looks that were shot their way from the ever growing crowd outside Quark's. Baskell was the first to sober, his young brow creased in a frown, "I just wish the Commander would stop being so hard on herself over the accident. I was in Ops when it happened - I saw everything and she did nothing wrong." He shook his head and drained the last of the coffee, "She was such a help to me last night, I feel I should return the favour, but she won't even speak to Captain Sisko. What chance do I have?"

Andrews looked around nervously, "Perhaps the Captain isn't saying anything she wants to hear."

"What do you mean?"

She hesitated and Baskell could see the famous self doubt creeping to the surface as she chewed on the nail of her little finger. He took her arm, forcing her to stop, "Come on, Jill, what do you know?"

She took a step away, her eyes darting furtively from one place to the next, "Not here. Cargo Bay 3."

He followed her to the turbolift without a word, waiting until they were moving before breaking the silence, "We won't get in there. That's where they're storing the salvage."

She sighed, "Yes, Martin. I was in charge of the operation. I think I may just be able to remember my own security code."

The 'lift whined to a juddering halt and they stepped off, rounding the corner to face the cargo bay doors. Andrews tapped the keypad and they trundled back revealing a junk yard of charred and twisted wreckage. Baskell walked slowly round the room, shaking his head at the damage, careful not to actually touch anything. Crouching down to peer beneath a large section of hull, he looked up at Jill as she hovered by the doors, "Is this all of it?"

She nodded, "All that was worth saving. They had to disintegrate some of the more badly damaged pieces to make the traffic lanes safe. This is all that was left."

Baskell got to his feet, "I take it you found no…um…organic…"

"Bodies? No nothing. But after an explosion like that…I heard that Doctor Bashir was having to treat some cases of eye damage in people who were looking straight at it on the Promenade."

Baskell whistled softly, "That's one hell of a big explosion."

"Yes…"

She was getting twitchy again, her gaze darting back and forth from him to the door, like a child scared of being caught playing in some-one else's back yard. He took one more look around, "So what did you want to show me?"

Gathering her courage, Andrews crossed to the back wall, disappearing into the shadows and forcing Baskell to follow her, "This."

Leaning against the bulkhead was the buckled remains of a runabout warp nacelle. Baskell knelt down next to it and reached out to run a hand along the edge, "I don't understand, Jill. It's a warp nacelle. It's wreckage. So what?"

Andrews knelt next to him and pulled his hand away from it, "Nacelles are relatively delicate compared to the rest of the ship. It doesn't take much to damage them and nine times out of ten, in an explosion they are completely destroyed."

Baskell shrugged, "So this one was that one time out of ten - it was well made. I still don't see what you're getting at."

Andrews stood up and led him back to the rest of the wreckage, "Look around you, Martin. Do you see anything else from the runabout?"

His eyes scanned the bay quickly and then in more detail, taking in every charred scrap of metal, every twisted indefinable lump of plastic, before he turned to face her, incredulous, "Are you saying that's all you found?"

She nodded, "It doesn't make sense. The cockpit is made of reinforced duridium. It could skip round a star and still be recognisable. We should have found something. For the warp nacelle to survive and the cockpit to be destroyed…well, it just doesn't happen."

"Have you told this to Sisko?"

She shook her head, "The engineering team has started work on a report, but they're more interested in the alien ship. It's made of some kind of metal they've never seen before. They haven't even looked at the nacelle yet." She began to chew on her nail again, "I tried to mention it, but, well you know what engineers are like."

Baskell snorted, "Yes, they never see the wood for the trees. We should tell the Captain about this as soon as possible."

Andrews caught his arm as he turned to leave, reddening at his questioning stare, "Martin, if there is any chance that the runabout survived the explosion, don't you think it should be Dax who figures it out?"

He paused, "I don't know, Jill. What if this was just a fluke? What if the nacelle just happened to be blown too far from the main explosion to be destroyed? If we offer Dax a lifeline and then it gets pulled away from her…she may never recover."

She was standing between him and the door, obviously not willing to let this go, "Dax will be fine - that slug thing will see to that - it's the others we need to think about." She sighed in frustration, "I've got a feeling about this, Martin."

"A feeling..?"

"Odo used to say that he didn't believe in hunches. He used to say that the evidence you need is always there, if only you dig deep enough." She reached out and took his hands, almost pleading with him, "I think we need to go deeper, Martin. And I think we need to let Dax do the digging."

Baskell squeezed her hands and smiled, "Okay, Jill, you're the detective, we'll do it your way. We'll tell her as soon as the service is over."

* * *

By the time Baskell and Andrews reached the memorial service, the Promenade was full to bursting as almost every person of every race on the station gathered to listen to the tributes to their fallen friends and colleagues. Bashir was speaking at the moment, his voice steady, his hands clasped tight in front of him. In the background Baskell could hear the monotonous rhythm of the Bajoran death chant as it drifted from the temple.

He let his eyes roam the people on the stage as Bashir finished what he had to say and retook his seat next to the white faced Keiko O'Brien. He touched her hand and she smiled at him a little too brightly.

As he walked forward, Baskell finally caught sight of Dax. She was sitting a little behind Keiko, her back straight, her face an impassive, unreadable mask. She looked as if she were attending an Academy lecture and when Captain Sisko turned to look at her and asked her to speak she shook her head and said quietly, "I don't think that would be appropriate, Benjamin."

Baskell saw a cloud of anger shroud Sisko's face as he stood and faced the crowd. He tried to listen to what he was saying, but his attention was caught by Dax as she rose from her seat and stepped down from the back of the stage, disappearing into Quarks before anyone else noticed. Gesturing to Andrews, he followed.

They entered Quark's together and saw Dax sitting, stiff backed, on a stool at the bar. One of Quark's lackeys poured her a glass of something green and then scuttled away to process her credit chip.. Dax took a deep swig of the drink and let her head drop.

Baskell touched Andrews on the shoulder, "Wait here."

Jill took a seat at the nearest table and watched Martin approach Dax, sliding onto the stool next to hers.

Dax looked up at him and straightened her back, draining the remainder of her drink, "Shouldn't you be at the service, Ensign?"

Baskell shrugged and shook his head at the lackey as he asked to take his order, watching impassively as the little Ferengi scowled and began pointedly cleaning glasses at the replicator, "There's no need."

Dax looked at him, "Really?" she stood up, placing her glass on the bar and glared down at him, "I hope people show more respect at your memorial."

She made to leave, but Baskell stopped her, his grip like iron on her arm, "I would appreciate it if you hear me out, Commander."

Dax held his gaze for a long moment until he released her, then she sat down and folded her arms, "Make it good, Mr. Baskell. I have no time for games."

Baskell studied her for a moment. Outwardly she was still the same old Dax. Her appearance was immaculate, the spots running down the side of her face and neck a sultry brown in contrast to her alabaster skin. Her eyes, though, were a living embodiment of pain.

He had always regarded Jadzia in a different light to the other officers on the station. She occupied a pedestal in his mind, high above the respect he felt for the others, and it hurt him to see her falling from it with this self destructive guilt trip.

He thought back to the night before, blushing a little at the memory - the shame of losing control in front of her. If truth be told, he had not forgotten she was there when he woke, he had simply been unable to face her alone. He hoped that he could pay her back.

He swallowed, "Do you remember what you said to me last night?"

She said nothing, her fingers running round the rim of her glass, so he continued, "You told me that I could either live with the choices I have made or let them destroy me. Take a little of your own advice, Commander, but take it the right way. You are stronger than this - you have to be."

She moved her hand away from the glass, her fists clenching as she fought to remain in control. Her eyes flashed dangerously, "What are you basing this on, _Ensign_? What possible experience could _you _have to be giving _me _advice?"

Baskell swallowed again, refusing to be intimidated, "None," he admitted with a shrug, "I hope I never experience what you must be going through."

Dax snorted and stood up, this time shaking off his arm as soon as he reached for her.

She was almost at Andrews' table when Baskell called after her, "If I do, though, I hope I show more dignity and courage than you have been."

Dax turned to face him, her hands clasped behind her back, an eyebrow arched, "What did you say?"

He walked slowly towards her, only stopping as he entered her personal space and could feel her breath on his face, "I called you a coward, _Commander_. There are clues for you to find here, and you won't even open your eyes and look at them."

She frowned, "What clues?"

Baskell beckoned to Andrews and she handed him a data padd. He held it up for Dax to see, "The inventory from the sight of the accident."

Jadzia took the padd and studied it with a practiced eye. The readings from the alien vessel meant nothing to her. The metal was an unknown quantity. The rest…well, a full analysis was called for. As for the runabout…the survival of a warp nacelle was a surprise, but…

Baskell and Andrews smiled as she tapped the padd's controls, searching for more data and finding none. She frowned as she looked up, "Is this everything?"

Andrews nodded, "Yessir, that's everything."

The frown deepened, creasing her brow as she turned things over in her head. The smile, when it came, lit up her whole face and she beamed at them, "They could have survived!"

Andrews gave a small nod, "Um, we did think so, yes." She reached out and tapped the padd, calling up a new screen, "We've covered the whole area, though. We've sent search parties to the gamma quadrant and back again. There's nowhere they could have gone."

The smile hadn't left Dax's face; that half hidden, tolerant smirk that spoke of secrets known and never shared. She drew the two Ensigns into a hug which surprised them all, "There's always somewhere to go. We just have to hope they left a forwarding address." Pulling away, she made for the door at a trot, "Come on."

Andrews and Baskell caught up with her and Martin asked, "Where are we going?"

She waved the padd at him, "To Ops. It's time I got back to work."

She let Andrews pass before taking Baskell's arm in a grip as powerful as the one he had used on her at the bar, "Just one thing, Mr. Baskell. If you ever call me a coward again I shall contact Gowron and tell him that you've been spreading unpleasant stories about his mother. And Ferengi aren't the only race in the galaxy who are over protective of their Moogies."

They walked onto the Promenade together, silent as the rest of the crowd as they listened to Sisko finish his tribute. If he spotted Dax, he did not acknowledge her and she hoped she would have something to make him smile again soon.

She followed Andrews and Baskell into the turbolift and headed for Ops.

* * *

Sisko tore his attention from the closed doors of the turbolift and concentrated on completing his speech.

The people before him had hung on his every word as he paid tribute to Kira, O'Brien and Odo.

To some he was the voice of experience, the man who had lost his wife and lived through the grief. To some he was simply the man in charge and they listened because it was what they were used to.

And to some he was the Emissary - the voice of the Prophets - and they listened because they _believed _what he was saying.

Sending up a silent wish that Dax could begin healing herself, he looked down at the mass of faces before him and attempted an encouraging smile, "…and, though their beliefs were as far apart - as different - as it is possible to get, they lost their lives together in view of the wormhole. And I believe that the Prophets are watching over them, wherever they are…"

* * *

The cockpit was full of smoke and Odo thanked the Prophets for the tenth time that he no longer possessed lungs to choke him or tear ducts to blur his vision.

With the runabout spinning like a top, alarms blaring, panels sparking, he was fighting down an unaccustomed rush of panic as he fought with the controls..

He was not sure what had happened to them, remembering only an explosion, the force of which had blotted out rational thought for a long moment.

When he had regained control he found that he was the only one still conscious; Kira and O'Brien sprawled across their consoles in a tangle of limbs.

Heart racing, he had checked for life signs and, finding a strong pulse in both of them, tried his best to make them comfortable before turning his attention to where they were and how they had got there.

Although able to pilot a runabout, Odo was not as skilled at its controls as either of his prone companions. A quick glance at the sensor readout told him that Bajor, the wormhole and the station were nowhere to be found and there was a planet looming far too large off of their port side. It was there that his skills came to an inadequate end.

The runabout continued to tumble, washing him with a disorientation he was not used to and tossing Kira and O'Brien from their seats like broken rag dolls.

Odo jabbed furiously at the controls, a thin tendril of Changeling self anchoring him to his seat as he tried to work out which of the insistent alarms he could actually do something about.

Aware of the plight of the other two, he shot out two more amber ropes and held them down as best he could. The fewer bumps and bruises they had to deal with, the better.

"Computer." His relief when the computer chirruped in response was almost tangible, "Identify that planet."

The machine didn't even pause, "Unable to comply. This area of space is uncharted. No recognisable landmarks within sensor range."

He muttered a curse he had heard Kira use frequently when dealing with these pompous Starfleet contraptions, "Scan the planet. Is it able to support humanoid life?"

"Confirmed. Planet is Class M and capable of supporting humanoid life."

There it was, that smug edge to the clipped female voice - why had he never noticed it before? He assumed this was yet another side effect of his time as a human - an ability to allow the smallest of things to get his back up. Not that he actually _had _a back to get up anymore.

"Computer. Is it possible to achieve orbit of the planet?"

"Negative." Why did it always sound so cheerful, "Damage to navigation systems is too severe."

"Is it possible to land on the planet?"

A pause. He felt an absurd sense of triumph knowing that he had made the machine think, "Unknown. Damage to atmospheric thrusters is severe."

He wasn't expecting that. Whether positive or negative, he always assumed the computer would have an answer. He had assumed it would pilot them down to the planet where they would send up some distress beacon or other and tell each other pointless campfire tales until help arrived.

The ship lurched and he tightened his grip on Kira and O'Brien, "Computer, set course for the nearest land mass and begin landing sequence."

"Confirmed."

The entrance into the planet's atmosphere was rough to say the least, and for one heart stopping moment Odo feared the runabout would shake itself to pieces.

The ship was in worse shape than he thought with systems cutting out intermittently and for a frightening ten seconds they were without both gravity and life support.

At that point he had screamed at the computer to increase its efforts whilst begging the planet to hurry up and hit them.

The turbulence had not decreased once they were through the upper atmosphere and into a virtual free-fall. He could make out the terrain below them quite clearly and was not sure whether to be dismayed or grateful that there were no signs of life.

They hit an air pocket, causing the battered ship to buck and rear and a new alarm blared impatiently at him, "Warning, atmospheric thrusters are off-line."

He looked up, his eyes wide with near panic. The ground through the cockpit window was coming far too close far too quickly, "Computer. List crash procedures."

Another wave of turbulence hit them and the runabout did a back flip that caused him to lose his tenuous grip on the console.

He slammed into the back bulkhead, cushioning his friends as best he could, "Computer! _Engage_ crash procedures!"

He could see the tops of trees through the window and braced himself as the ship skipped over the top of them, snapping branches as it went. In a second he knew they were going too fast.

Unless he did something quickly, he would be the only one who stood a chance of surviving this landing. Through the cacophony of noise assaulting his senses he just made out the computer cheerfully announcing, "Unable to comply."

Without another thought, he let his shape dissolve as he pulled Kira and O'Brien closer to him, flooding pools of his amber substance round them, over every limb, hugging every part of them, before allowing the outermost parts of himself to solidify into a perfect sphere, coccooning them inside a bubble of pure Changeling.

The concentration needed to hold that shape as the ship sliced through the trees was immense. He was aware of metal wrenching and tearing with an almost living groan as the runabout screamed its death throes and buried itself deep in the ugly trench of earth it had carved on its way down.

He felt himself thrown violently from the bulkhead as the ship came to rest and for a second he lost his bearings.

Then all was still.

Aware of the heart beats of his precious cargo he allowed himself a sigh of pure relief that he had succeeded in getting them down alive. Then he let his shape go and dissolved through a crack in the floor, not knowing or caring where he fell.

Just needing to sleep.

For over an hour there was silence.

Then, "Where the bloody hell are we?"

Kira groaned as O'Brien's foghorn voice bounced around inside her head. They had come round from their stupour at much the same time to hear birds singing in the distance and feel a warm summer breeze caressing their skin.

She pulled herself gingerly to her feet, feeling tender spots all over her body that were bound to become bruises, and surveyed the wrecked runabout.

The hull was badly breached, indeed she could make out the landscape outside through the gaping wound to the rear of the craft and thanked the Prophets that the atmosphere was breathable.

From what she could make out, the computer was down. She was no engineer, though. Maybe there was some secret Starfleet button to be pressed which would repair the damage and get them the hell out of here. She turned to watch O'Brien as he disappeared beneath a smouldering console, "Anything?"

He muttered something under his breath as he started pulling the useless innards out of the machine.

Realising she would have to wait for any sort of coherent reply, she decided to prepare phasers and tricorders for the three of them - not that Odo would carry a phaser.

It was the one bone of contention between them. She had come to understand his refusal to use one, but his stubborn insistence that he did not need to carry one as a deterrent would always baffle her.

It was only as she stood, aghast, before the melted wreckage of the weapons and equipment lockers that she realised that Odo was nowhere to be found.

A quick search of the limited space on the runabout failed to turn up the Changeling in either his humanoid or gelatinous form so, with a glance at O'Brien's protruding feet, she stepped gingerly through the hull breach and onto unknown soil.

The terrain around them reminded her of Bajor. In one direction grassy, rolling flatlands gave way to the steep hills that dominated the skyline, whilst in the other she saw the remains of the dense woodland they had obviously demolished on their way down.

But no sign of Odo.

Knowing that it would be foolish to set out alone in search of him, she went back to the runabout and called to O'Brien, "Chief?"

His annoyed voice was muffled, as though he were holding a screwdriver in his mouth, "Look, Major, you have to give me a bit of time…"

She crouched down and tugged at his foot, "No, Chief, listen. Odo's gone."

He shuffled out from beneath the console and looked at her, "What do you mean, gone?"

"Look around you. He's not in here. You can see for miles outside and there's no sign of him."

O'Brien frowned, "Should we go look for him?"

Kira sat back against the console rubbing her eyes as a headache threatened to explode, "We need to know more about what's out there before we go anywhere."

"Well, you could go and do an initial scan while I try to retrieve what I can from the computer core…"

She cut him off with a shake of her head, "We lost all the tricorders in the crash. Phasers too."

"What!" O'Brien let his shoulders slump, "Then the quicker I get this done the better." And he ducked back under the console with a string of mumbled Irish curses.

Feeling like something of a fifth wheel and more than a little worried for her shape-shifting friend, Kira ventured back outside, hoping against hope that she would see Odo come strolling over the nearest hill, ready to frown at her in that way he had as she demanded to know where he had been.

She sat down on one of the fallen trees and waited.

A shout rang out in the distance.

She could hear some-one screaming.

She got to her feet, ready to fetch O'Brien, but he was already leaving the runabout, "What was that?"

She scanned the horizon and pointed, "I don't know. It came from over there, I think."

They listened in silence.

The shout came again, closer this time and Kira turned to O'Brien, "Back inside."

He stood his ground, "That's not a good idea, Major. I managed to salvage a partial long range scan from the computer memory."

"And?"

"And the civilization on this planet is pre-industrial. They haven't even invented the combustion engine yet."

Kira let out a sigh of frustration, "Great. So if they find the ship with us in it, they're liable to burn us as demons."

O'Brien snorted, "I was thinking more of the Prime Directive, Major. We can't let a pre-industrial world have access to the technology on the runabout."

She was staring towards the hills now, "Much good it would do them." He started to protest, but she cut him off, "All right, Chief, we'll set the self destruct and run."

He stared at his feet, shamefaced, "The self destruct is inoperative."

Kira gave him a withering look, "In that case, Mr. O'Brien, we need to keep them away from here. I suggest we just run."

So they did.

They covered the hundred or so yards of flatlands in record time, stopping only when they came to the foot of the first hill.

Looking behind them, they were relieved to see that the runabout was all but invisible, buried deep in the ground, well hidden by the fallen trees.

The shouting came closer. They scanned the horizon together and O'Brien pointed to the top of the hill, "There!"

A young man of perhaps sixteen years was cresting the hill in a panicked flurry of arms and legs.

He wasn't very tall, a few inches shorter than Kira, his limbs too scrawny, his hair a mess of ginger curls. He was dressed in a one piece knee length jerkin, tied at the waist with a belt. His feet were bare and they could hear him crying heavily.

He tripped and fell, rolling down the slope then scrambled up again and ran headlong into O'Brien with a cry of terror. The Irishman took a firm grip on his arms, "Whoa, steady there."

The young man's blue eyes were wide as he tried to pull free of his captor, "Let me go! They'll get me, they will, let me go!"

Kira stepped past them as five men appeared at the top of the hill. They paused when they saw the two strangers, then ran, sure-footed, towards them.

The boy began to wail and struggle harder, "They'll take me back! They will, they'll take me back !"

O'Brien shook him once, "Enough! We won't let them hurt you."

He released his grip and the boy scrambled behind him, threw himself to the ground and curled up in a ball, trying his best to make the world disappear.

The men had reached Kira now and O'Brien stepped up to join her.

They were all similarly dressed, much like the boy, but with some kind of leather armour protecting their chests and backs. They all wore boots and carried stubby swords. The larger of the five stepped forward and addressed O'Brien, "Will you protect this criminal?"

Kira glanced back at the cowering huddle behind them, "What has he done?"

The man glowered at her, "What he has done is no concern of yours, deviant." He hefted his sword, his eyes locked with the Chief's, "Are you protecting the criminal? Speak!"

O'Brien shook his head, "We need to know what he's done. We won't let you hurt an innocent boy."

The man raised the sword higher and growled, "He is an escapee from Caspii. We're here to bring him back."

"Caspii?"

The man paused, eyeing him warily, "The prison."

Sensing a change in his mood, O'Brien nodded, "Of course. We've been traveling. Names - they kind of get mixed up."

The man took a step closer his sword inches from O'Brien's throat, his voice quiet, "You must have traveled a long way, friend, to claim ignorance of Caspii. You'll give me your name."

The Chief swallowed and Kira spoke up, ignoring the glares of the other men as she stepped brusquely between her friend and the sword, "I am Major Kira Nerys and this is Miles O'Brien and we don't want any trouble."

The man's eyes shot daggers at her as she stared up at him, "You'll have more trouble than you can cope with if you speak to me again, deviant."

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

He scowled, "I'm not blind - it's what you are."

Kira's hand moved unconsciously to the bridge of her nose and the delicate ridges which told all and sundry that she was Bajoran to the core.

The man laughed cruelly, "Haven't exactly made any attempt to hide it, have you…deviant?"

Seeing Kira's shoulders tense as the fury built up within her, O'Brien touched her arm, "Major…"

She raised her hands in defeat and forced a smile through gritted teeth, "No problem, Chief." She stepped aside and went to stand by the trembling mound that was the escaped prisoner, listening carefully to everything that was said.

The man had raised his sword again, holding it far too close to O'Brien's face, "I'll ask you once more to step aside, friend"

To his credit, the engineer didn't flinch, "And I'll ask you once more what the boy has done…friend."

Kira's hand crept automatically to her belt, before she remembered with a silent curse that she was not armed. If things turned nasty, they were in big trouble.

She crouched down next to the boy, ready to coax him into a run if need be.

To her surprise, the big man laughed in O'Brien's face, "You really have been travelling too long, haven't you friend." The smile vanished as the sword was pressed into the flesh at the Chief's throat, "Or else you would know to get out of my way and turn over my prisoner."

O'Brien gasped and froze. The sword was remarkably sharp and he knew that one movement and he would be skewered through.

He let his eyes stay fixed on the scowling face of the man before him, aware that the other four had moved behind him.

He heard a brief scuffle and an explicit Bajoran curse as Kira was pulled to her feet and forced to stand next to him, a second man holding her from behind, his arm round her throat.

A third man dragged the screaming boy past them, grinning as the poorly aimed kicks and punches barely grazed him. The big man lowered his sword and nodded, "Let's go." He slapped O'Brien on the back, "Well, friend, it looks as though your memory is about to be refreshed."

"What do you mean?"

The man shoved them both forward, forcing them to climb the hill, "Obstructing the course of justice. Protecting a criminal." He glared at Kira, "Association with a deviant. You're about to get a close up view of Caspii. From the inside."

* * *

The march to the prison took almost two hours. The first hour had passed in relative silence, with only the muffled sobs of the boy and the jibes and laughter of the guards breaking the monotony.

The closer they came to their destination, though, the more animated their fellow prisoner became.

He had taken to walking hand in hand with Kira, apparently unconcerned that she may be a demon, pointing out landmarks to her and telling the story of his daring escape.

From what she could piece together she knew his name was Jhemor and he had been in the prison for as long as he could remember, though he didn't know why.

He had escaped by hiding in a trader's wagon as it was about to leave the prison.

He was also a little simple.

Talking to him like an adult only confused him and she found herself chatting with him as though he were a toddler.

She had tried to get as much information out of him as possible, but his disinclination to recall actual facts coupled with the guards' willingness to administer a swift thump whenever they said the wrong thing meant she hadn't learnt much.

One thing he did talk about was his overseer, "Marius is in charge of _all_ the people" he announced with an all-encompassing sweep of his arm. His voice dropped and he tugged at her arm, "He's a bad man, yes he is. He shouts and he hits people for hardly no reason at all." His eyes were pleading with her, "You be careful of him, Major lady, or he'll shout at you too, yes he will."

Kira gave him a fond smile, "I'll be careful. I won't give him any reason to shout at me."

Jhemor nodded, satisfied, "That's good, that is, 'cos you and Mr. 'Brien won't be there for long. You didn't do anything _really _bad and you can hardly tell that you're a deviant at all and when the merchants come for the games I'll tell them you helped me and they'll let you go."

They walked in silence for a while, the hilly terrain rapidly giving way to more flatlands.

A column of smoke rose up in the distance and all Jhemor's previous excitement vanished. His grip on Kira's hand tightened, "That's it. That's Caspii, it is. They're cooking, they are."

The big guard prodded him in the back, "You're not going to get stupid on us, are you, Jhemor?"

The boy was trembling and Kira released his hand and wrapped her arm protectively round his shoulders as he answered, "No, sir, I won't get stupid."

They walked the final mile or so in silence, watching the prison come into view as they crested the final rise. Walls of stone, with long metal spikes running like soldiers at attention along its length, hid the complex itself and O'Brien could see what he assumed to be the main gates being opened by four stocky, heavily armed men.

One of their captors gave him a hard shove, forcing him to move faster, "Time for sightseeing later, friend."

He clenched his fists against his rising anger, his refusal to accept lightly that he was being treated this way.

They were on an unknown planet with no sign of help arriving in the near future; they had lost the one person who could have bluffed his way - _shifted_ his way - out of this, and getting himself killed would be of little use to anyone.

He steadied himself and concentrated on following Kira and Jhemor through the gates. They trundled shut behind them and O'Brien jumped when they slammed home.

Once inside the walls of Caspii, events moved too quickly for Kira and O'Brien to keep track of.

They were shunted from one room to the next by big men who enjoyed getting heavy handed and who seemed unable to talk without shouting. Then they were stripped of their clothing and left for what seemed like hours, standing naked together in a cell that smelled of fear ingrained into the very walls.

O'Brien found himself constantly engrossed by some fascinating spot on the wall just above the window, whilst Kira, bereft of such inhibitions after a lifetime of living in such conditions, attempted to lessen his embarrassment by staring at her feet and not saying a word.

When the door finally opened they looked up with pathetic eagerness at the thug who entered.

He leered openly at Kira, taking in every curve on her body as she glared back, daring him to try anything. With a snort of laughter he threw a bundle of cloth at her, "Get dressed."

She examined the clothes, passing half of them to O'Brien who scrambled into them with a speed belying a man his size, then dressed herself, well aware of the lecherous stare of the thug at the door.

When she was done, she looked across at the Chief and, despite the situation, found herself fighting down the urge to laugh. They both wore one piece tunics, similar to Jhemor's, which ended just above the knee. Their feet were bare.

The thug stepped forward and gripped her arm, "Out!"

After another half walk, half stumble down an interminably long corridor, they were pushed through a set of double doors into the largest hall either of them had ever seen.

The room had no furnishing except for a raised area next to the doors and was full of people all standing in rows, all dressed the same as Kira and O'Brien. The low rumble of a hundred frightened voices mixed with the quiet sobs of the more faint hearted.

The thug shoved them forward, "Choose a line and stand in it until told otherwise." And he left them.

"Pleasant guy," muttered O'Brien as they joined the second row of prisoners, "I wonder if they're all as charming as him."

Kira was only half listening as she studied the hall around them, taking in every detail, memorizing the faces of every guard, "I don't plan on being here long enough to find out."

"I'm with you all the way, Major. But where would we go?"

"The runabout."

He shook his head, "That thing will never fly again, it's wrecked. I don't have the tools to make that kind of repairs."

She stepped closer, her voice low, "We may be able to salvage something, Chief. If we can get a distress call out and arm ourselves…some of the phasers may be salvageable…"

He shook his head, "Look around you. These people have barely discovered metallurgy. If we go firing phasers…the Prime Directive…"

"Doesn't mean a thing to me. I'm not Starfleet, Chief, I'm not bound by your rules."

He gritted his teeth as he prepared for a battle of words, but a shrill voice curtailed any rebuke he may have been ready to launch, "Mr. 'Brien! Major lady!"

And Jhemor came bursting through the row behind them and threw himself into Kira's startled arms. She disentangled herself awkwardly and O'Brien ruffled his hair, "Hello, Jhemor."

The boy forced himself between them and beamed, "The guard said they were chopping you up to eat you. I knew he was lying, yes I did." He frowned, "I think they say those things to make me cry."

O'Brien snorted, "I could cope with being chopped up and eaten, lad. I thought I could cope with anything they threw at us - then they go and make me wear a bloody dress!"

Kira turned from her examination of the room to look at him, "It's not a dress, Chief, it's a tunic" she smiled, "and it's flattering to your legs."

He snorted, "To _your _legs maybe. I have the kind of legs that look a lot better when no-one can see them."

All conversation was brought to a rude end when the big double doors were slammed open admitting a middle aged man who pushed past the guards and regarded the people before him with a casual sneer.

He was about the same height as O'Brien, but the similarity ended there. His body was all muscle, compact beneath his unbuttoned shirt. His black hair cut close to his scalp and his eyes like two beads, piercing and cold.

"That's him," whispered Jhemor, "that's Marius, yes it is, that's him." And he hid behind O'Brien.

Kira watched Marius as he strolled up and down the lines of prisoners, tapping a short truncheon against his thigh, his lip curled in a scowl as he glared at them all in turn.

Every now and then, he would smash the truncheon down on some unfortunate soul without provocation, grinning as his victim writhed in pain.

Kira had seen men like him before all too often. Strutting Cardassian soldiers who delighted in the intimidation and humiliation of Bajorans during the Occupation. Bullies. Marius would have been well at home amongst them.

She smiled to herself, "Odo would have known how to deal with him" and wished again that she knew where the Constable was and whether he was all right.

"You find something amusing, deviant?"

She snapped her head up and found herself nose to nose with Marius.

She has been so caught up in her thoughts for the Constable that she had not noticed his approach. He was snarling at her, his breath rank in her nostrils and she forced herself not to flinch, shrugging instead and shaking her head, "No."

She was looking him in the eye, refusing to bend under his stare, but stiffened when he smiled a smile of pure malevolence, "Do you see anyone else in this room laughing?"

"Not since you walked in."

If she was expecting the man to swap insults with her, she was mistaken. He merely turned and continued his inspection, passing to the end of the row.

Jhemor crept out from behind O'Brien's legs and tugged at her sleeve, his voice barely a whisper, "You make him cross, Major lady. He hurt you if you make him cross."

Kira placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered back, "He's a bully, Jhemor. If you face up to bullies they have no power over you."

She caught O'Brien's eye and knew in an instant that he didn't believe that any more than she did. If they were to get out of this prison, find Odo and get home alive, she would have to be careful of the enemies she made.

Marius had reached the end of his inspection and mounted the podium by the doors, scowling down at them like an overseer, his truncheon held across his chest, "Welcome," he said, "to the last place you will ever see."

A rumble of fear ran through the huddled prisoners and Kira sighed as Jhemor moaned and gripped her hand, clinging to it like a lifeline. Marius slammed his truncheon against the door, "Silence!"

It seemed that the fear of Marius himself was greater than the fear of the prison and the horrors it threatened, as the prisoners fell silent immediately, their eyes riveted on the man before them.

He slapped the truncheon into his palm, "While you are here you will do as I say. You will do it promptly and without question. You will follow the orders of your superiors immediately. Any failure to obey an order will be dealt with…" he smiled, showing his perfect white teeth, "…severely."

He stepped down off of the podium and began his cat-like prowling of the rows once more, eyeing each of the cowering figures in turn, "The fact that you are here tells me that you are criminals. I have no time for criminals. I have no time for people who challenge the order of things. We are the greatest civilization of all time - we will be so long after you and your kind are gone. Things have been this way for almost two thousand years and they will not change because a few degenerates say they should."

He reached the end of the first row and started on the second.

Jhemor hugged Kira's arm as the man approached and she hustled the boy behind her, willing him to stay quiet. They had brought themselves to Marius' attention too much already.

She lowered her eyes and listened to his booted feet approach, the rhythmic tapping of the truncheon in his palm making her heart race.

For an instant she was back on Bajor during the Occupation. A sabotage attempt at one of the mining sites had gone disastrously wrong and she was lined up before the local Gul with Shakaar and Lupaza, trying her hardest not to show weakness as he bore down on her and screamed obscenities in her face.

The prison they had finally ended up in was very much like this one and she fought down the memories of what had happened there. It would do her no good to give in to the fear of what had been.

The feet came closer, "There is only one way out of here alive," he laughed, "though no one has ever made it. I am required by law to give you the opportunity to buy your freedom. I am required by law to let you earn the means to pay for your freedom."

The feet came to a halt in front of Kira and she lifted her eyes and returned his scowl.

Though he spoke to the whole room, his eyes never left hers, "I am _not _required to make things easy for you. If you want to get out of here, you will have a fight on your hands."

Without a word of warning he raised the truncheon and smashed it down across her chest.

She collapsed, gasping for breath, aware of O'Brien's cry of warning and Jhemor's wail of terror and of Marius as he knelt next to her and growled in her ear, "If you ever speak to me like that again I will make you wish you were never born." And he continued his patrol as though nothing had happened.

Kira squeezed her eyes tight against the tears of pain that threatened to betray her.

She felt gentle hands help her up and looked into O'Brien's concerned face as he steadied her on her feet. The Irishman was shaking with rage, "The man's a bloody sadist."

Kira patted his hand awkwardly, "I'm used to sadists, Chief."

A small sob from ground level turned their attention to Jhemor. He was sitting on the floor, hugging his legs and rocking to and fro.

O'Brien knelt down and pulled him to his feet, whispering encouragement, "Come on, lad. Best not let them see you cry."

He and Kira held the boy's hands as he stood between them. Together they listened until Marius finished speaking and the prisoners began to file from the room, encouraged to go the right way with shoves and thumps from the guards.

Kira nudged O'Brien, "Look."

"What?"

She nodded towards the door, where, every now and then, some-one was dragged from the line and thrown into a side room, "They're separating us. Everyone he used that stick on is being taken away." She looked into his eyes, "Whatever happens, Chief, you have to get out of here and find Odo."

"Major…"

She waved him down as they approached the exit, "There's no time. I'm giving you a direct order, Mr. O'Brien. You will find a way out of this and get as far away from here as possible. You and the Constable should be able to come up with a route home between you."

A hand seized her arm and dragged her out of line. Without a word, she was thrown through the open door into a dark room full of sobbing, frightened people.

She could hear Jhemor's high pitched wail as he called to her, then the door slammed shut, blocking him out and she could no longer see a thing.

* * *

O'Brien gripped Jhemor's hand tightly and pulled the weeping boy onwards as he followed the line of inmates deeper into the complex. He didn't struggle for long and by the time they were pushed into their cell he was no longer crying.

As the locks were snapped home, O'Brien sat his young charge down on one of the three bunks that dominated the room, then straightened to take a proper look around. Not that there was much to see.

As an avid fan of tales from Earth World War Two, Miles had read all about the treatment of prisoners of war and the conditions in which they lived. If he had been asked to run up a holosuite program for such a scenario, this would have been much as he would have designed it.

The room was no more than twelve feet wide and perhaps fifteen feet long with a high ceiling. The walls were solid stone, fused together by time and the elements, green with mildew and cold as space.

In the far wall was a small window some eight feet off the ground. It was slatted with heavy bars and offered very little light.

The only furniture was the three bunks, one against each wall, all covered with rough blankets and the thinnest of mattresses. The fourth wall was bare except for the heavy oak door.

O'Brien tested it with his shoulder and found it solid. The hinges were huge, fashioned from long rusted iron and he knew he would never open them without tools. There was a small hatch at the top of the door which he assumed gave the guards full view of the cell's inhabitants before the door was opened.

He sighed, "Well, I guess we're going nowhere fast." He crossed to the bunk beneath the window and sat down, dejected. After a moment, Jhemor climbed up next to him, "Where's the Major lady?"

O'Brien shrugged, "I dunno, son."

Jhemor laid his head on the engineer's knee, yawning, "I like her," he said, "I not want them to hurt her."

O'Brien looked down at the sleepy boy, "You and me both."

The boy's eyes drooped as he finally gave in to fatigue and O'Brien looked up at the impenetrable door, "But if you can think of a way out of this, let me know, 'cos I'm stuck for ideas."

* * *

Having spent longer than she cared to remember in one Cardassian prison or another, Kira was familiar with the various techniques used to break prisoners' spirits.

Being locked in an unfamiliar pitch dark room with twenty strangers for Prophets knew how long was not one she had experienced before, but she had to admit that it was effective.

For the last few minutes one of the men had been hammering at the door, screaming to be let out. She recognised raw fear when she heard it and doubted that he had ever been locked up before, but it was the ones who panicked that put the rest of them at risk and she hoped that their captors would come for them soon or she would kill him herself.

Feeling her way along the wall towards him, she tugged at his arm until he was still, "Stay calm. If you show any weakness, they'll use it against you."

She felt him face her as he ripped his arm free, "What do you know about it?"

Before she could answer, the door was thrown open and the lights came on, blinding them.

She stepped back, pulling the man with her as Marius strode in followed by a band of his uniformed thugs.

He cast a disparaging glance at the huddled group as they stood blinking in the glare of the harsh lights, "Up against the wall. All of you."

The thugs stepped forward, ready to 'help' anyone slow to obey, but Kira and the others had had more than enough attention from them and were quick to line up against the far wall.

Marius took a slow, almost casual walk up and down the line. Not once did he look at them, paying more attention to the room around him than to the row of fear standing at almost painful attention in anticipation of what he would do.

Kira let her eyes follow him as he walked, her patience wearing thin.

As soon as she had been pulled aside and deposited in this room, she had mentally prepared herself for the fact that she may never leave it.

She had no idea where she was, no idea how to get home again. A simple mission had gone disastrously wrong and, as senior officer, it was her responsibility.

She had already lost Odo and the Chief was now languishing in some cell or other with only a young half wit for company.

She took a sideways look at her fellow internees and found a mixture of old men and wide eyed innocents who looked no more capable of protecting themselves than a vole in a nest of Klingon Targs.

Marius was sharing a private joke with one of the guards, joining the man in raucous laughter and something inside her snapped.

She no longer had the inclination to let this bully boy walk all over her, "Care to share the joke?"

He turned and smiled, then barked an order to one of the thugs. Kira watched as the other prisoners were led from the room, then turned to face Marius as he looked at her, his eyes boring into her skull, "I knew you would be the first to break."

"Break?"

He trotted almost keenly over to her, stooping slightly so he could look her in the eye, like an adult speaking to a child, "Break. I just _knew _the will to speak would overcome the will to stay alive."

Kira snorted and broke the eye contact with a contemptuous toss of her head, "If that's a threat, I'm not impressed."

He straightened up, "No, I didn't think you would be." He reached out and stroked her earring, smirking at her involuntary flinch, "I have a proposal…"

She scowled, "I'm not interested."

His hand clamped onto her forearm, fingers digging painfully into the flesh, "I'm not giving you a choice."

Kira held his gaze steadily, summoning as much malevolence as she could muster even as a flicker of fear ignited in her eyes.

He ran his hand over her earring again and this time she remained still, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was getting to her. When he gave it a tug, however, she slapped his hand away and jumped back, fists clenched as one of the remaining thugs raised his truncheon and stepped towards her.

"No." Marius held up a hand and the man stood down with a nod.

Marius leant against the wall and regarded Kira casually, "As I was saying, I have a proposal. I recognise a trouble maker when I see one and if it was up to me I would have you executed on the spot."

He spread his hands in a gesture of resigned acceptance, "Unfortunately I have to obey the law - and the law states quite clearly the circumstances under which I can dispose of you. Being a potential trouble maker, even a deviant trouble maker, isn't one of them."

She didn't let her guard fall, "Lucky me."

"You think so? We'll see if you still feel lucky this time tomorrow."

She shook her head, "You don't scare me."

Marius snorted and pushed himself away from the wall, "Then you're not as clever as I thought you were."

"Just get on with it."

The scowl returned and he walked to the door, "There is a way for you and your friends to get out of here," he smirked at the look of hope on her face, "Let's see if you're worth it, shall we?"

He closed the door.

* * *

It had been over an hour since the other inmates were returned to the cells, but there was still no sign of Kira.

O'Brien leant against the door, squinting through the hatch at the corridor outside, waiting for something - _anything _- to happen.

He had tried to speak to the others as they were marched past, but not one of them had even looked at him.

He glanced over at one of the bunks and the sleeping Jhemor and offered up a word of thanks that the boy had not woken. He didn't feel up to dealing with high pitched panic right now.

He walked over to the bunk and covered him with one of the blankets, wishing again that he didn't look so young. It was the same back home; he always had a hard time dealing with the baby-faced officers, the ones who reminded him of his youngest brother.

Jhemor muttered and stirred in his sleep and O'Brien stepped back to his place at the door, and waited.

He didn't realise he had drifted to sleep until he was startled awake by Jhemor tugging at his sleeve. The boy jumped back, "I'm sorry, Mister 'Brien, I'm sorry."

O'Brien shook his head, "Don't worry about it."

He heard a commotion close by and peered through the hatch again, Jhemor on tiptoe at his side, "That's what I wanted to tell you, Mr. 'Brien. I heard Marius, yes I did. He's bringing the Major lady back."

Sure enough, the door at the end of the corridor was thrown open revealing two of the guards.

O'Brien and Jhemor were back on their bunks before they could be seen.

Moments later, Marius pushed open the door and smiled his unpleasant smile, then stepped aside to allow Kira to be thrown in.

She hit the ground with a gasp of pain and O'Brien felt part of his world collapse.

He was by her side before the door closed, "Major…"

She flinched as he touched her and he gritted his teeth at the sight of the bruises on her face and arms.

She tried to stand, but her body wasn't ready to move just yet so he carried her to a bunk and laid her down, then ran to the water bucket and scooped up a ladleful of the rancid liquid.

After one swallow she shook her head and he tossed the ladle aside. When he turned back, he was amazed to see her smiling. He knelt next to her, "What did he do?"

Kira shook her head again and licked her lips, "It doesn't matter, Chief."

Her voice was strained as if she were fighting discomfort, determined not to break.

She held out her right hand which was clenched into a tight fist. When she opened it, O'Brien saw her delicate silver earring, which was as much a part of her as her flash-fire temper, nestled in her palm.

She smiled up at him as he took it and carefully examined it for damage, "He didn't take it, Chief. For all his bragging and boasting, he _couldn't_ take it." She sighed and let her eyes close in exhaustion, "Round one to me, I think."

O'Brien pressed the earring back into her hand and regarded her sadly, as she wrapped an arm around Jhemor in an awkward cuddle, "Sure, Major, " he thought, "you've won the battle, but if things carry on like this, he'll win the war."

She opened her eyes again, as if sensing his concern and squeezed his hand, "Hey, don't worry, Chief. If the Cardassians can't finish me, some jumped up little barbarian doesn't stand a chance."

He tried to return her smile with confidence, but failed miserably.

Kira beckoned him nearer, "I learnt one thing. It seems he wasn't just being over dramatic when he said we would have to fight to get out of here."

"What do you mean?"

She swallowed, closing her eyes against the pain, "Apparently the only way to make money is to fight…in an Arena…for the entertainment of some local merchants." Her voice broke and she turned away, "If you win and they think you made a good enough show of it, they pay you. When you save up enough, you can buy your freedom."

O'Brien watched her as she battled back tears. He brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face, his voice gentle, "Who do we fight?"

She looked up at him with a sigh, "Each other - other prisoners. Anyone that bastard Marius says we fight…and…"

"And?"

"And it's to the death."

Jhemor began to cry.

* * *

It was two days before Marius showed his face again. Two days of physical healing, hunger and mind numbing boredom.

They had spent hours telling each other stories, more as a means of keeping Jhemor calm than for any real need to hear them.

Kira's tales of the Bajoran Resistance scared him, though, and he much preferred to listen to O'Brien's Earth fables; sitting enrapt at his feet as he told him stories of princesses and kings and pots of gold at the end of a rainbow.

When the bolts on the door were thrown back he cowered away with a moan of fear and all the work was undone.

Kira stood when Marius entered the cell, her stance defiant as he approached her.

He walked round her, looking her up and down as if examining a piece of merchandise, "Bruises don't suit you."

She gave a snort of laughter, "I could have told you that before you went out of your way to give them to me."

He chuckled as though they were sharing some private joke, "But you do so insist on encouraging me."

He smiled as she braced herself, ready to take the blows she knew were coming, and stroked her shoulder almost tenderly, "Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you. It wouldn't be fair."

She bristled, "Fair?"

"If you're to stand any chance in the Arena you have to be fit."

O'Brien stood up, "Two days without food and you think we're fit?"

Marius turned his attention to the Irishman, "I hope so, for all your sakes. If you're not, they'll be dancing round your funeral pyre by nightfall."

Jhemor whimpered and Marius laughed out loud, "And the half-wit act won't save you this time, Jhemor. You'll take your turn at the games along with the rest of them."

He knelt down next to him and ruffled his hair, grinning a malevolent grin at the tears that were racing each other down the young face, "Don't cry, boy, there'll be a big crowd to watch you fight. And you never know, you might win."

He didn't shut the door on his way out.

There was nowhere left for them to run to.

* * *

An hour later they joined the other inmates on the short march to the Arena - a small, somewhat pompously named patch of land circled by cells that made the one they had just left look palatial.

Behind the cells sprawled the amphitheatre - a huge stone circle of seats - packed with well dressed merchants, traders and spectators, all baying for blood as the prisoners were paraded before them.

Marius, like some twisted ringmaster, introduced them to their audience as the "best of the best. The gladiators who are to do battle for your entertainment" whilst imploring them to be generous in their appreciation.

For one brief moment, Kira was reminded of Quark and wondered briefly how much this brute of a man was slipping into his own pocket, before she, O'Brien and Jhemor were pushed into one of the cells as the first 'game' began.

They sat facing each other in silence, each lost in their own world of thoughts and fears. Each wondering how the hell they were going to get out of this one.

The rules had been made clear - they would fight or they would die. If they survived they _might _be paid.

O'Brien caught Jhemor's eye and gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile. The chances of them being paired off in a death match were…well, quite high, actually. He found himself wondering whether he would be able to force himself to kill the young man. Would he put his own life before those of his friends?

Kira sat next to Jhemor, her back ramrod straight, her eyes a little too bright, the half healed cuts and bruises from her beating at the hands of Marius standing out in livid contrast to her pale skin.

He hoped that she would be spared any future such encounters. If she kept on bringing herself to their captors attention she would not get out of the place alive - and he was damned if they were going to lose anyone else on this mission.

A roar from the crowd heralded the death of the first 'gladiator' and they stiffened as one as heavy footsteps crunched toward their cell.

The bolts were thrown back and Marius sneered in at them, "So much for Jilara." He eyed them one at a time, letting his gaze settle on Kira.

She glared back at him with open hostility and he reached in and grabbed her arm in his vice of a grip, "Time to prove your worth, deviant."

O'Brien leapt to his feet, "Let me go instead. She's too weak to fight…"

Marius's hand smashed across his face, knocking him to the floor, "You were warned about speaking out of turn. I won't warn you again."

Kira gazed back at her companions as she was dragged to the arena, but said nothing. Stumbling against Marius' rough grip, she gave a small smile and was gone.

O'Brien found himself staring at the solid wooden door as it was slammed shut in his face. He slapped it in anger, "Dammit!"

Jhemor's soft tone cut across his ire, his voice trembling as he tried to be brave, "Is the Major lady go to die?"

O'Brien didn't bother to answer. He scuttled across to the tiny slatted window which faced the Arena and peered through.

Kira was being dragged to the centre of the ring to face her opponent, Katalia, a woman from a few cells down. She was large and strong with a surprising turn of speed and he wondered whether the Major could take her down.

The whistle blew, the crowd roared as the two women began to circle one another cautiously, looking for an opening.

The sun beat down steadily, glinting off of Kira's earring, bragging to Marius that he had been unable to take it from her.

O'Brien craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the overseer and the look on his face made him very afraid for his superior officer.

He knew that the man would challenge Kira again, should she survive the day. And he knew that he would be unable to protect her.

He turned back to the ring as Jhemor sat next to him, his voice small, his eyes bright with unshed tears, "It might be better if she die in the Arena. Yes, it might."

O'Brien glared at him, "Don't say that"

Jhemor looked at the floor and whispered, "At least it be quick."

Kira blinked as the sweat trickled into her eyes, the sun burning her neck.

Katalia's gaze was relentless, never leaving her face, her hands hanging at her side in casual mockery of her opponent.

Years of experience had taught the Bajoran never to judge a fighter on first impressions and she held back and waited for her chance.

Rumour had it that Katalia had crushed the life out of a man for knocking into her accidentally and that three guards had been hospitalised trying to free him.

Kira didn't know if the rumour was true, but she was not going to get careless. She tried to read the other woman's face but her eyes were like flint and gave away nothing.

They circled each other again, neither willing to make the first move.

The crowd began to grumble and Kira saw Marius vault the wall into the Arena and raise his hand. She felt the sting before she heard the whip crack and flinched, her concentration broken.

Katalia's fist slammed into her face, flooring her as her nose let loose with a steady stream of blood.

The crowd cheered.

Kira pushed herself to her knees and tried to get her bearings, a wave of dizziness making her sway and almost fall.

A foot crunched into her chest, knocking her the rest of the way down. The foot tried to stamp on her as she floundered in the sand, but she rolled away and got to her knees, coughing up a lungful of dust.

Katalia pulled her off her feet, dangling her in mid-air.

Kira looked at her groggily, instincts honed from a life time on the edge of death screaming at her to fight for life.

She slapped feebly at the fingers which were tightening at her throat, legs kicking wildly as her lungs heaved for air, "…damn you…"

Katalia smiled and threw her at the Arena wall like a rag doll.

Kira slid down the wall in a daze, no longer wanting to move, her throat on fire, burning as if she had swallowed glass.

Blackness teased the edge of her vision and she knew that consciousness was fading and welcomed it. It would be so good to sleep.

A familiar voice called to her from a long way off, "Get up, Nerys. You have to get up."

She let her head loll to the side and saw O'Brien's eyes glinting through the slats of the pen window, pleading with her, "You have to get up. Now."

She could hear the crowd roaring and see Katalia as she drank in the applause and she knew that she didn't have long left.

O'Brien was calling to her and she wanted to tell him she was all right, that she just needed to rest a while, that she was sorry she had led him into this, but all that came out was a choked sob.

O'Brien gripped the ledge before him in frustration as Katalia tramped forward, intent on finishing the job.

He knew that he could not watch Kira die. Not here, not like this. No matter what followed, she had to live and he would protect her from Marius with the last ounce of his being, "Nerys," he urged, his voice a hiss, "get up, please get up."

She said nothing, and he saw her tears mingle with the blood from her battered nose.

Something inside him snapped and he hammered his fists against the slats, "ON YOUR FEET, MAJOR!"

She stirred, her eyes flickering open as her soldier's training took over and her body tried to obey the order, no matter who it came from.

She fought to stand, but her legs didn't want to hold her and she moaned in pain and frustration. Katalia was mere yards away and O'Brien screamed through the window, "You stay on your feet, Kira Nerys, or I'll blast you out of a bloody airlock!"

A stick slammed against his fingers and Marius glared in at him, "Shut it."

But it didn't matter - Kira was standing.

Katalia didn't pause in her advance. Her prey was wounded and all but out for the count. Only the formality of the kill remained.

She reached out to take Kira by the throat once more - a quick, merciful death.

She blinked as the smaller woman ducked beneath her arms and brought her knee up into her gut. Katalia gasped and staggered back. Kira aimed a roundhouse punch at her chin and followed through with a kick to the throat.

Katalia hit the ground, groaning. She tried to find her feet, but Kira knocked her supporting arm away and slammed her heel into the woman's nose. Pay back.

Bleeding profusely, her body wracked with pain, Katalia looked up at Kira in defeat and waited for death.

The crowd was on its feet, baying for blood, chanting for the kill and Marius crossed the Arena and threw a dagger at Kira's feet, "Finish her."

Kira lifted her eyes to his, pure exhaustion etched across her face, "I already have."

And she turned and walked back to the cell.

O'Brien caught her as she fell through the door.

The crowd began to boo.

Marius curled his lip and strode toward the cell with three guards, tapping the dagger against his palm as he came. There was nothing O'Brien could do to stop them as they took Kira from his arms and dragged her away.

* * *

So, what do you think?

If you're still with me, Chapter Four is on the way.  



	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The old Cardassian mining station sat at the edge of the wormhole like a huge abstract spider waiting for its web to flower open and pass the next meal into its hooked arms. All around, ships buzzed like so many insects, darting to and fro across the space lanes, occasionally straying into the path of the Celestial Temple and vanishing into its undulating depths.

The subspace communication channels were alive with the chatter between the ships and the station as the crew in Ops pleaded, requested, commanded and threatened them to leave the area or else respect the recognized rules and await clearance to dock.

The Captains of the ships, mostly pirates, smugglers and glory seekers, just as loudly quoted the rules of salvage and declared they would leave the area when and only when they were sure there was nothing left of the vessel that had exploded at the mouth of the wormhole.

With the oldest and most obscure of rules being waved in their face, Ops contacted Bajor and spoke directly to the First Minister; and Shakaar, his anger at the loss of a life-long friend still burning, sent fighters to reinforce the station's message. There was no salvage to be had and any unauthorized vessels still in the area within the hour would be seized.

Minutes later the space lanes were clear, the stragglers and more stubborn amongst them docking for a suddenly much needed stint of shore leave.

Most of them found their way to Quark's, the heart of all things legal and not quite so legal on Deep Space Nine. It was there that Benjamin Sisko found them when he stopped by before the start of his shift that morning. He ordered a Black Hole and walked to a secluded table to take in the scene.

The usual lull before a shift change had long since drowned in a sea of too much latinum and not enough soap; the diversity of aromas which made Quark's the perfect place to study the varieties of life, smothered by sweat and engine grease. Despite the smell, he couldn't deny that they were a colourful bunch. Ferengi and Humans rubbing shoulders with Packleds and even an Andorian, whilst Quark bustled back and forth between them dispensing drinks and taking orders, his eyes lighting up with every spin of the dabo wheel.

Julian Bashir wandered over, holding a glass of synth ale above his head and muttering polite 'excuse me's' as he pushed his way past a group of Packleds dithering in the aisle. He almost tripped up the step as his eyes followed the movements of a leggy goddess as she crossed his path on her way to the bar. Steadying himself, he glanced across at Sisko with a sheepish smile and went to join him, "Fascinating bone structure, " he said, nodding after the woman, his expression impassive, "Never seen anything like it in some-one of her species…"

Sisko raised an eyebrow, "You mean human?"

Bashir frowned, opened his mouth to speak then closed it again with a shrug, "Yes … um…human…"

Sisko laughed as he and Bashir settled themselves at the table. The Doctor took in Sisko's potent drink with a worried glance, but said nothing. Running this station was not a job he would have cared to take on, and if the Captain needed a little pick-me-up once in a while, who was he to criticize - so long as it didn't become a habit.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, each fascinated by the myriad races milling through the bar. Bashir took a sip of his drink, "If Odo were here, he would have a fit."

Sisko nodded and wrinkled his nose, "And he would find some way of blaming Quark for the sanitary habits of his customers."

"How long do you think they'll stay?"

Sisko sighed and picked up his glass, "Not long. There really is very little left to salvage. The Bajorans have still got fighters patrolling the area and not many of these folk are willing to call Shakaar's bluff." He frowned down at his drink and returned it to the table, "They'll be gone in a day or two."

Anything Bashir may have said was drowned out by the clanging of metal on metal as Quark stood atop his bar and clattered a large spoon against a serving tray, "Ladies and Gentlemen, your attention please."

A gradual hush fell as everyone turned to look at him.

Quark didn't so much as flinch, merely let his gaze scan the crowd before raising a glass, "For most of you this is your first visit to DS9 and I thank you for your custom. Those of you who have been here before will no doubt be aware that security is somewhat lax at the moment. As a fellow businessman, I would like to warn you not to take advantage of this opportunity for too long. The Starfleet Ensign may not be as efficient as Odo but I hear she's learning fast."

There were a few rumbles of impatience and Quark hurried on, his glass held high, " As owner and manager here at Quark's I call on you all to join me in raising your glasses to the only Shapeshifter you could trust, and wish him a profitable time in whatever passes for an afterlife amongst his people."

He jumped down off of the bar and began dispensing drinks to all and sundry. Sisko watched in surprise as most of the clientele drank to the memory of a complete stranger.

Bashir smiled fondly, "He's been doing this on and off for the last two days. All drinks on the house for a toast to the Constable."

Sisko arched an eyebrow, "On the house?"

The Doctor nodded, "I was as surprised as you. With Morn on the station he could have been bankrupt within a day. But apparently no-one is taking more than one drink and no-one is coming back for every toast."

"It seems that respect for Odo has spread to include preserving the profits of the person who will miss him the most."

Bashir smiled again, "Oh, I don't know. With no Odo around, Quark's life will be a lot easier."

Sisko nodded and picked up his drink, "But not as much fun."

A clinking of glasses from the direction of the bar heralded the end of the toast and Bashir sighed, placing his half finished synth ale on the table, "I should be going. Ensign Baskell is due in for the first of his counseling sessions. I'm not sure which of us is the most nervous."

"You'll be fine, Doctor."

The young man grinned, "If I mess up, can we arrange to have one of those pleasant Betazoids stationed here?"

Sisko half returned the smile, "Don't mess up."

Bashir gave a mock salute and headed for the Infirmary.

Sisko leant back in his seat and watched Quark tidy away the now empty glasses. The little Ferengi had finally surprised him for the better and he would remember.

He lifted his own glass in a silent salute to absent friends and knocked back the Black Hole in one slug, shuddering as it burned its way down. He was due on duty at any minute and, for the first time in his career, felt he couldn't face it without a little boost to his system.

It was three days since they had lost Kira, O'Brien and Odo and somehow the station was still up and running. O'Brien's second had accepted a promotion a little too quickly for everyone's liking and was systematically checking every inch of the station for faults. If he removed one more panel in Ops and tutted and shook his head with that plastered on expression of disbelief Sisko would flatten him. That, of course, would give him a chance to speak to Ensign Andrews.

Of the three replacement officers he had had to brief over the last few days, Andrews was the one who gave him the least worry. Sisko had been watching her from a distance and had decided that the Constable was right - she was an outstanding security officer. All right, so she was a little young, a little wet behind the ears for a promotion of this kind, but it was only until the Bajoran government decided who to send to replace Odo.

He wished they had put as much thought into assigning his new first officer.

As he walked to the airlock to greet the man, Sisko had promised himself that he would give him a fair hearing before passing judgement on his character. He would _try _not to compare him with Kira. He would _try _not to notice every little thing he did which differed from the way she had worked.

The past was the past and there was still a lot to be done.

The airlock had trundled open and a six foot bear of a man stepped out. His hair was black as pitch and cut close to his neck, his eyes were green. He carried himself with confidence, his uniform pristine, his earring an elaborate contrast against his golden skin. He glanced briefly up and down the corridor before stepping forward and holding out his hand, "My name is Kladzi Tiron. _Colonel _Kladzi Tiron. Permission to come aboard."

Sisko shook his hand trying not to wince at the iron grip, "Permission granted, Colonel. Welcome to Deep Space Nine."

Kladzi sniffed, "Thank you Captain. If you will show me to my quarters I would like to get settled in."

"Certainly" he held out an arm inviting the Bajoran to follow, "Do you have any luggage."

Kladzi stepped past him and studied his surroundings critically, "I've arranged to have it unloaded shortly."

Two small Bajoran children ran past, chatting excitedly and almost colliding with Sisko in their haste. He smiled and stepped aside, ruffling their hair as they went by, then calling for the turbolift as they reached the door, "You'll be staying in section 4B in the habitat ring until your new quarters are ready…" He frowned as Kladzi glared after the disappearing children, "Is something wrong, Colonel?"

"You allow children to play near the airlocks?"

Sisko looked at him, "It's a public area. The inner 'locks need a pass-code to gain access and the outer 'locks won't open if there is no ship docked. They're perfectly safe."

Kladzi scowled, "That is hardly the point."

"Most of the children on this station are permanent residents. Do you suggest I confine them to quarters until they come of age?"

"Sarcasm is not called for, Captain."

The 'lift doors opened and Sisko placed a hand across the sensor to stop them closing, "I'm sorry, Colonel, but you have to understand that the smooth running of this station is based largely on trust. For years the Cardassians ruled under martial law. I will not do the same."

"And Major Kira had no problem with this?"

Sisko could feel his hackles rising, "A lot of what you will see on this station came about thanks to Major Kira's efforts."

Kladzi snorted, "I can see I have my work cut out for me."

"I beg your pardon?"

He shrugged, "This is a military station, not a social club. I suppose that's what you get for putting an _honorary_ officer in charge." And he stepped into the turbolift.

Sisko gritted his teeth and tried to smile as he stood beside him, wondering whether the Emissary could be charged with murder under Bajoran law.

* * *

Things had not gone much better after that.

Kladzi had gone out of his way to find fault with everything and everyone he met and, on his introductory tour of the station, had made it clear in no uncertain terms that he objected to having a Starfleet Ensgin as Chief of Security, no matter how temporary the position. His only redeeming factor seemed to be that he had a deep respect for Odo and the way he had kept order. Sisko could not decide whether it was as a result of some rooted fear of the Founders or if the man genuinely knew class when he saw it. So far he was opting for the first choice.

Watching the unflappable Andrews glare daggers at the preaching Colonel, whilst biting her lip to keep from swearing her way to the Brig, cut him to the core and he had hauled his first officer back into line and led him on to the next part of the tour. As the doors to Security closed behind them he had heard Andrews let forth with a string of Klingon curses of which Worf would have been proud.

Once Kladzi was firmly ensconced in his new quarters, unpacking the first of his many suitcases, Sisko had returned to Ops.

With the memorial service behind them and new officers in positions of power, the attitude and conduct of the crew had began to return to something close to normal. O'Brien's replacement was sprawled beneath the Operations console making some obscure repair or other, the floor around his legs littered with tools. There was a flash of sparks and Sisko found himself waiting for a bawdy Irish curse that never came. Somehow it didn't seem right.

Baskell was at the engineering station, monitoring the repairs, confirming readings as the new Chief called for them. The other stations were manned by the usual assortment of Starfleet and Bajoran personnel and he prided himself that he knew them all by name.

And then there was Dax.

Ever since she had come to him with the news that there _might _be a chance that the runabout _could have _survived the explosion she had been the embodiment of relief - a condemned soul given a last minute reprieve - and he had had to physically restrain her from breaking the news to the rest of the station. The evidence they had was not absolute and there were too many 'maybes' and 'could haves' for his liking. He couldn't deny that his heart had leapt when she, Baskell and Andrews had laid out the information for him to see, but he knew when people were clutching at straws and these three were all but rolling around in the hay loft. He would not dish out false hopes only to snatch them away. How would he face Keiko? How would he look her in the eye as she relived her grief if he told her the Chief was coming home and then couldn't even produce a body for her to weep over?

He couldn't do it

He wouldn't do it - and, after a moment's thought, Dax had agreed with him.

There were things that could not be kept secret, though, and the Ops crew had to know why Dax was dominating a large chunk of computer memory for so long. There were smiles and prayers to the Prophets, but he trusted his people. No-one would breath a word.

He stepped down from the turbolift and crossed to the Bajoran man at communications, "Any word from Commander Worf?"

The man nodded, ""Yessir. He's expected back within a week."

Worf had been temporarily recalled to Earth as an advisor in the latest ship to ship tactical training scheme. Sisko remembered with a smile how the big Klingon had stood in front of his desk almost bursting with pride as the Captain told him he was to take the Defiant and show the next generation of Cadets how, with the right person in charge, a ship could be used to its most effective ends.

"Has he been informed of events?"

"Yes. He's sent a personal message for Mrs. O'Brien."

Sisko nodded, "I'll deliver it myself this evening."

"Aye, sir."

He turned away from the Bajoran, allowing him to return to his work. It would be good to have Worf back on the station. It would be good to stand and watch as the Klingon sized up the noxious Colonel Kladzi. Give it a couple of days and Quark would be running a book on whether the Commander would put the first officer through a bulkhead. He doubted there would be many witnesses if it happened.

He was about to climb the steps to his office when Dax had called to him, her voice a mixture of excitement and shaky control. He stood behind her and looked over her shoulder, "What is it?"

Dax had beamed up at him with a smile that made her eyes dance, "There's _something _there, Benjamin. It will take the computer a few hours to cut through the interference and give us a better picture, but there is definitely something there."

Sisko had looked at the mess on the screen with a sigh. It was good to see her smile again, good to see her caught up in her work once more; but there was something not right about this - something a little too desperate in her smile, "Take it easy, Dax. The computer could just be picking up some unknown quantity in the explosion. I see nothing here to suggest anything more."

The smile had faltered, "But, Benjamin…"

He took his hand off the back of her chair and straightened, "I want to believe they are alive as much as you do, Old Man, but I will not chase shadows on some guilt trip for the rest of my life and I won't allow you to do so, either."

His voice had softened as he gazed down at her, her lips clamped shut, a slight frown of concentration furrowing her brow as she stared at the computer screen, "Walk away from it, Dax. That's an order. Let the computer do its work and _then_ we can get our hopes up - or bury our demons - whichever is necessary."

She had barely spoken to him for the rest of the shift and his stomach had twisted in remorse at being the one to have dampened her mood.

When it became obvious that the computer was having trouble analyzing the data, he had watched as the high spirits had deserted her and the smile left her eyes and his heart hit the floor.

In some desperate, almost childlike, attempt to mend things between them he had invited her to supper when Alpha shift arrived to relieve them; but she had muttered something about wanting to finish what she was doing and turned back to her console.

He had eaten supper alone.

And now, here he was using alcohol as a substitute for a good breakfast. His father would have a fit.

The bar had emptied quickly after the toast and the last few stragglers were leaving as the night officially ended. He watched as Quark's minions began scrubbing tables, sweeping floors and programming the replicator in preparation for the coming day's business.

A small figure tapped on the bar for service and Sisko smiled as Quark took the order, pulled a face and handed Martin Baskell a glass of orange juice, muttering that he was trying to run a public house not a cafeteria. Baskell shrugged, not really listening, and took his drink as far away from the Ferengi as possible, almost knocking into Sisko's table in his distracted haste. He steadied himself, "Sorry, sir."

Sisko nodded, "No harm done, Ensign." He watched the young man's face with a quizzical frown, "Are you all right, Mr. Baskell?"

Baskell looked up quickly as if only just registering his presence, "Oh, yessir, I'm just…" he shrugged, "…thinking." He took a hurried sip of his juice.

"I hear you're seeing Doctor Bashir this morning."

Martin's grip tightened on his glass and for a moment Sisko thought it would shatter, "Yessir, In fifteen minutes."

"When did this happen?"

Baskell laughed nervously, "After Commander Dax talked some sense into me."

Sisko nodded in sympathy, "She's good at that."

"Yes…" He hesitated and frowned down at his drink, unsure whether he was about to exceed the bounds of protocol.

Sisko peered up at him with a small smile of encouragement, "What is it?"

"I just wish she would take a little of her own advice."

"What do you mean?"

"The way she's pushing herself, sir. I've just been to Ops to confirm my relief has everything he needs and she's glued to her computer screen."

The smile faltered, "Dax is in Ops?"

"Yes, sir."

Sisko chuckled, "I wouldn't worry, Ensign. I've known Dax for a long time, and she's beaten me to the punch-in clock on more than one occasion."

Baskell shrugged, "I suppose so, but you need to punch out before you punch in again."

The humour vanished from the Captain's face, "I beg your pardon."

"Permission to speak freely?"

"Go ahead."

Baskell took a steadying breath, wondering whether he was about to put his commission on the line, "Well, if I were in Command, sir, I would make her take it slowly. Double shifts are hard at the best of times…"

"Double shifts..?"

"I would have ordered her to…" At the look of rising fury on Sisko's usually poker face, Baskell stopped abruptly, "Oh…you didn't…oh…"

Sisko glared up at him, his anger growing, "Out with it, Ensign."

Martin shuffled his feet awkwardly, looking as though he wanted the Promenade to open up and swallow him, "I didn't mean..I mean, I thought you knew…I don't want to get her into trouble."

Sisko's smile was humourless and showed his perfect white teeth and the Ensign took an involuntary step back, "It's her or you, Mr. Baskell."

Martin swallowed nervously as the ground remained firm beneath his feet, not so much as a hint of escape available, "According to Lieutenant Purcell, Commander Dax didn't clock off shift last night, sir."

The Captain placed his glass very carefully on the table, stood up and straightened his uniform, "Thank you, Ensign. I will see you in Ops this afternoon." And he stalked out of Quarks without looking back.

Baskell considered calling Dax to warn her, but the look of death in Sisko's eyes was not one he had ever seen in hers and he knew in an instant of whom he was more afraid.

He gulped back his juice and fled to the Infirmary.

A morning of being psychoanalyzed by Bashir was beginning to look like heaven.

* * *

The computer screen blurred again and Jadzia rubbed a hand across her weary eyes. Alpha shift had just taken over, throwing her a few concerned and curious glances, wondering why she was still here; and the chronometer told her she had been working for twenty six straight hours.

Audrid had been chiding her for gods knew how long, a soft, insistent voice niggling at the back of her mind, easily ignored when she concentrated. Now, though, her concentration had slipped as exhaustion threatened to consume her, _"Don't you think you should rest now?" _

"Soon."

_"You've pulled a double shift, child, you know how Benjamin frowns on that." _

"Soon. I promise."

_"He told you to walk away. The computer is more than capable of dealing with this. You need to sleep." _

"I'm not tired."

_"Working yourself into the Infirmary isn't going to help, you know." _

"It wasn't too long ago you were telling me to pull myself together and get _back_ to work."

_"You are a woman of extremes, Jadzia. It's not good for you." _

"I have to finish this. Please leave me alone."

_"Curzon was never this unreasonable." _

_"No. I was much worse." _

The turbolift whined to a halt and Benjamin Sisko stepped off, fresh and alert from a night's sleep which she had denied herself. He walked straight to her console and glared at her, taking in her disheveled uniform, the bags shadowing her eyes, the exhausted slump in her posture, "My office, Old Man. Now."

And he turned away, taking the steps up to the command room two at a time. The doors hissed open and he stood back and waited for her.

Jadzia sighed and hit the save button. It was going to be a long day.

He waited until the doors were closed and she was at attention in front of his desk before he laid into her, "Just what the hell do you think you're doing!"

She stared straight ahead, recognizing the unshakable fury in his voice and knowing from two lifetimes of experience that aloof detachment was liable to get her into more trouble. They were Captain and Commander now and she had just jumped well over the line of acceptable behaviour, "I'm sorry, Captain, I got caught up in my work."

He was at her side now, glaring Sergeant Major-like at her profile, daring her to meet his eye, "I don't buy that, Dax. An hour or two I could accept, but you've been in Ops for twenty six hours. What are you playing at?"

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and let her head drop ever so slightly. She could no more lie to this man than she could tell the stars to stop shining, "I wanted to re-check the computer data on the accident. I thought I could speed the process up a little."

Sisko stepped in front of her, forcing her to look at him, "I gave you a direct order!"

She closed her eyes, her voice small, "I know and I'm sorry."

The sight of this usually self-confident woman standing before him in lost silence like a frightened schoolgirl took some of the fight out of him and he walked to his chair and sat down, "You know, I just put the fear of the devil into young Baskell thanks to you."

She wouldn't look at him, "Martin's a good officer. He'll live."

He leant back, "Yes, he will. But you're putting him through hell at the moment."

This got her attention and her head snapped up, "I've done nothing."

"Haven't you? He and Andrews gave up the chance of a bag of glory to put you on the right track. They thought it would snap you out of this self destruct sequence you're in, but all it's done is push you the other way." He sat up straight, appealing to her, "You're working yourself too hard, Dax. Can't you see that?"

She was glaring at him now, eyes like flint, "That's because I seem to be the only person on this station who wants my friends back!"

She regretted it as soon as she said it, but this was not grade school, she couldn't take it back and the hurt look in Benjamin's eyes would stay with her forever. He looked at her for a long, long moment and when he spoke his voice was hard, "We all want them back, Commander, but we have to be patient. You more than most people should know that the computer cannot process data in the blink of an eye that it doesn't understand. We have to _wait_."

She had her hands on the desk now, eyes blazing, "We could recreate the accident?"

He was incredulous, "How? How could we recreate the accident, Dax? We're dealing with unknown quantities."

"But you haven't even _tried_."

His anger rose to match hers and he clenched his fists beneath the table, "And I'm not going to. Dammit, Dax, we don't even know if they're still alive! I won't risk anyone else because your guilty conscience is impatient."

She stepped back, returning to attention, eyes focused on the star-scape behind him, "I'll do it."

There was a lengthy pause and for a moment she thought he would let her go, but when he eventually spoke there was a finality to his voice that made her want to cry, "No you won't." He stood and approached her once more, "You've gone too far, Dax. You're not thinking straight, " he took a deep breath, "As of this moment you are relieved of duty for twenty six hours."

She stared at him, aghast, unable to believe he was really speaking to her, "But, Benjamin…"

"One more word, Commander, and I shall call Doctor Bashir up here and have him make it official. Now get out!"

She stared at him for a long moment then turned on her heel and left.

He watched her until the turbolift disappeared from sight.

* * *

Quark leant an elbow on the edge of the bar and smiled his dagger-toothed smile.

He loved shift changes. All those Starfleet and Bajoran officers walking through _his _doors to wash away the memory of a hard night's work with a glass of synth ale or a bottle of spring wine. All those bars of gold pressed latinum being risked at _his_ dabo wheels or spent on _his_ holosuites. All that profit lining _his _pockets.

He straightened up and scratched the back of one of his lobes. He just _loved_ shift changes.

A shadow fell across the bar and he looked up into a pair of the bluest eyes he had ever seen. He had been told that the seas on Earth were this blue and he could fully imagine letting himself be swept away to drown in their depths.

He stepped back and took in the complete view. The woman was beautiful and his smile broadened as his lobes began to tingle.

Sweeping red hair cascaded freely down her back dragging his gaze to her goddess of a figure atop legs which should have been declared illegal. She was clad in loose fitting trousers and the tightest of tight blouses, giving the entire bar a generous view of her ample cleavage.

He swallowed and picked up a glass, polishing it casually with the tail of his coat, "Can I help you?"

She perched herself on a bar stool and smiled at him, her eyes sparkling like gems in the half light, "I've been told that you're the one to see about arranging a sale."

He put the glass down and leant forward, allowing his eyes to travel up and down her body in an appreciative arc, "That really depends on what you have to sell."

She reached out and ran one long finger across the bridge of his nose and down the rim of his ear, smiling as he shuddered, "Beauty, Quark. I am offering you a thirty five per cent share in the sale of beauty."

The Ferengi shook his head as he gently pulled her hand away from his ear, kissing it softly, "I'm sorry, but you've been misinformed. I'm a businessman not a pimp."

She laughed, throwing her head back and allowing him a full view of the milky contours of her throat, "Do I look like a whore, Ferengi?"

Quark sighed and patted her hand, "Believe me, my dear, we would be rich within a week." He reached behind the bar and placed a bottle of Earth champagne and two glasses between them, popping the cork with practised ease, "So, how exactly can I earn a forty five per cent share in beauty?"

"Thirty five."

He smiled and poured her a glass of the bubbly liquid, "The day's still young." He handed her one fizzing drink and they toasted each other with the clink of glass on glass, "But you were saying…"

She took a deep swig and put the glass on the bar, reaching into her pocket and placing a fist sized bag before him, "Open it."

Quark eyes her cautiously, "It's not going to bite me, is it?"

"I doubt it."

He cracked his knuckles and slowly pulled the drawstring on the bag, pushing the fabric down to reveal the most beautiful gemstone he had ever seen.

It was about as long as his thumb and twice as deep, its precisely cut contours reflecting the lights in the bar in ways he had previously only imagined. It was of the deepest green he had ever seen, the colour seeming to swim in gentle spirals like smoke caught in crystal as he watched. His eyes lit up and he licked his lips and automatically began to calculate its value.

The woman gave a gentle cough and he reigned in his enthusiasm to give her a nonchalant shrug, "It's very nice. I could probably have it moulded for pendants…"

"Pendants…"

He sighed apologetically, "Bajor is rich in pretty stones, my dear."

She leant forward again, letting her fingers renew their caressing of his ear, "But this is not from Bajor." With a flick of the wrist there was a knife in her hand, its blade pressed hard against his throat, "And I do not like being taken for a fool, Ferengi."

Quark gave a squeak of terror and raised his hands in defeat, "There's no need for unpleasantness. I misjudged you. I'm sorry." He clamped his wrists together in the Ferengi pose of subjugation, his voice raising an octave in panic, "I'm a businessman. You can't blame me for trying."

The knife stayed where it was and her blue eyes held his, "Maybe not. But remember this - that was your one and only chance. Cross me again and I will sell your remains to the Founders to feed to the Jem'hadar."

He swallowed and tried to nod without slitting his own throat, "Okay. I understand. Let's do business."

With another deft flick of the wrist, the knife disappeared as fast as it had appeared and the woman picked up her glass and took a smiling sip at the contents.

Quark let out a sigh of relief. He really would have to start watching women's faces and ignoring their chests. It was going to get him killed one day.

* * *

The session with Bashir - which the Doctor had insisted on calling "an informal chat" - had gone better than Baskell had hoped. He had poured out his heart to the man, telling him things he thought he could never discuss with anyone, and he felt great.

The tightening in his chest whenever he thought of his wife told him that he still had a long way to go, but at least he hadn't cried. There had been enough tears.

He wasn't due back in Ops for a couple of hours. A celebration was definitely called for. He spotted Colonel Kladzi striding towards a turbolift and knew in an instant who would be in need of some friendly company. After a quick stop at the Replimat, he went in search of Andrews.

The doors to Security were locked and tinted for privacy when he approached, his hands warming rapidly against the two raktajinos he was carrying; and no-one was answering the chime.

He gave the doors a kick, "Come on, Jill, break time."

They remained obstinately closed and he kicked them again, the coffee sloshing over the rim of the mugs and burning his hands. He gritted his teeth and called, "Andrews, I'm trying to be a knight in shining armour here and these second degree burns are somewhat spoiling the picture."

The doors hissed open and he darted in, almost dropping the mugs onto the desk, "About time." He popped a scalded finger into his mouth and examined the burns that were barely there with an expression of wounded pride, "Sir Lancelot was never treated this way…"

He tailed off at the sight of the room. The floor was littered with data padds, both chairs were overturned and there was a splintered crack along the row of observation monitors which lined the back wall. He stepped behind the desk and saw Jill Andrews sitting cross legged under the table, her normally placid face black as thunder, her eyes staring straight ahead as she held her clenched fists before her - an explosion of fury kept in check.

He sat down next to her, "What happened?"

Her voice was quiet and far too calm, "I broke the security office."

He looked around at the debris once more, "You certainly did. Would you like to tell me _why_ you broke the security office?"

She looked at him, "Are you going to report me?"

"Who to? You're Chief of Security now. Will you give yourself a strict talking to or does this warrant a stint in custody?"

Without warning she slammed her fists into the floor, shot out from beneath the table and started to pace furiously back and forth, her feet cracking on the fallen data padds. Martin followed at a more sedate pace and did his best to stay out of her way. After completing a few lengths of the room she turned to face him, eyes blazing, knuckles white as her nails dug into the palms of her hands, "It's that… that… _imbecile_ Kladzi!"

He nodded, "I had a feeling it might be."

If she heard him, she didn't show it, "I've served a term and a half with Odo. I've learned everything he had to teach me and he says I'm good. Captain Sisko says I'm good. Hell, even _you_ say I'm good. But that _Colonel_ won't even give me a fair hearing." She dragged her hands through her hair, eyes wide, "And I can't help asking myself, what if he's right, Martin?"

"What do you mean?"

He saw a flicker of doubt creep into her eyes, "He goes on and on about what it was like in the resistance, about how you have to gain wisdom and earn respect on the battlefield. How can I do my job if the second in command has no respect for me? If _he _thinks that way, what do the others think?"

"What others?"

She waved her hands vaguely, "The _others_! The engineers, the cargo workers, the enlisted men," she was beginning to shout now, "The people who drink at Quark's, for God's sake! They must be having a field day with this." She glared up at him as he pushed away from the table and approached her, "What kind of deals are they making behind my back, Martin? How many people are laughing at me? What are they…"

His hand shot out and slapped her sharply across the face and she stared at him in open mouthed shock. He regarded her impassively, "Are you finished?"

She held a hand to her stinging cheek, "You hit me!"

"Oh, barely. Don't make such a fuss." He stepped away from her and turned over one of the chairs, taking her arm and making her sit down, "Drink your coffee and then we'll tidy this place up."

Jill took a tentative sip of the raktajino and looked across at Martin as he righted the other chair and sank into it with a sigh, "I'm sorry."

He reached out and took his mug from the desk, "For what?"

"I haven't even asked how your counseling session went."

Baskell cradled the mug between his hands and breathed in the heady aroma, "He's a good Doctor. We made a start and I'm to go back next week"

The hurt was still there and the wounds still sore. He had no desire to go over this ground again today and deliberately changed the subject, "So, apart from the fact that he's arrogant, pig-headed and uncaring, why don't you and the new Colonel see eye to eye?"

She shrugged, "I can't do my job with him around." Baskell saw a flicker of fury enter her eyes, "The station is crawling with mercenaries and he has me holed up in my office, lecturing me on not letting children play near the airlocks!" She raised her arms in despair, almost losing the raktajino down the front of her uniform, "The man is supposed to be a Colonel. You'd think he would have learned to prioritize."

"Have you mentioned any of this to Sisko?"

She glared at him, "What is this? Every time I have a problem you tell me to go to Sisko. He's got enough problems without his Security Chief running to him whenever things get rough." She scowled and lifted the mug to her lips, "Besides, I don't think the Captain likes Kladzi any more than I do."

Baskell chuckled, "He's not exactly making a lot of friends."

Jill drained the mug and placed it on the desk, "None that matter, anyway. He seems to have a soft spot for Ferengi and anyone who calls him 'sir'."

She reached out and keyed her console, spinning her chair to face the row of monitors along the back wall. Only one of them put up any kind of a picture, out of focus and fuzzy around the splintered glass.

Through the haze of interference Martin could just make out Quark's bar before the monitor sparked noisily and the image vanished completely. Jill cursed softly, "I'll have to get that fixed first."

"Well, if it helps, last I heard the bar was full of salvage hunters."

She gave an unbecoming snort, "I know, I can smell them."

He watched as she keyed into her computer and re-arranged the security patrols to give extra attention to the Ferengi's bar.

He was used to seeing Andrews engrossed in her work - it was one of her career attributes. He was _not_ used to the furrow in her brow and the suppressed panic in her eyes.

He prepared himself for an explosion as he broke the next piece of news, "And Quark has been telling everyone you're a force to be reckoned with and not to go getting any smart ideas."

Her head snapped up in disbelief, "He's what!"

"He's only trying to help."

The panic was there again, fluttering just beneath the surface like a trapped bird, "Oh, sure he is! He's giving me a reputation I can never live up to."

Martin leant over and squeezed her hand, "Of course you can."

"I should go and arrest him."

He gave a choked laugh, "On what charge - being nice to the Chief of Security?"

"It was one of Odo's first rules - no matter what the provocation, _never_ trust Quark."

"Oh, come on!"

She turned on him, eyes wide, "No, I mean it - he used to say that justice balanced itself out in the end and we were to lock him up at the first opportunity. It may have seemed harsh, but you could guarantee he had already gotten away with something much worse."

Martin leant back and shook his head, not sure whether to be amused or concerned, "No wonder he's always on his toes."

Andrews left her chair and knelt to pick up the fallen data padds, "Not for much longer."

He joined her, hoping that the information on the shattered equipment was retrievable, "What do you mean?"

"I told you - Kladzi _likes_ him. He thinks he's an asset to the station."

Martin shrugged and handed her a bundle of undamaged padds, "It takes all sorts…"

"You think? With Kladzi on his side we may as well give him a level nine security clearance and free run of the station."

"Come on, Jill. _You're _in charge of security matters, not Kladzi."

She dropped the padds onto the desk, her voice rising in frustration, "It's not like I even wanted this job."

"Then why did you take it?"

"Because I couldn't stand the thought of some-one else doing it wrong."

Baskell let an armful of padds clatter to the deck, "My God, did I just hear Jill Andrews own up to having confidence in her own abilities?"

She smiled and stuck out her tongue, appreciating what he was trying to do, then shook her head, "Give me a week of being lectured by the mighty Colonel and I won't even be able to _spell _self confidence."

"You'll be fine."

"I wish I had your…" The comm. channel beeped and she slapped it in frustration, "What is it?"

The precise calm in the voice of her new second in command, Ensign Serrat, pulled her back from the edge of a fury she had no use for, "We require security at airlock five."

"What's the problem?"

There was a hint of distaste to the Vulcan's tone, "We have a brawl in progress amongst the Packleds."

Jill exchanged an incredulous look with Martin, "The Packleds?"

"Affirmative. Apparently only one of them has learnt how to open the airlock on their ship and they cannot recall which of them it is."

"On my way."

Martin laughed silently, delighting in the glare she shot at him as she holstered her phaser and ordered a team to the Packled ship, "Need any help, Chief?"

She scowled and tossed a data padd onto the desk, "You can finish clearing up in here if you like."

At his mock salute, she sighed and headed for the door, "I wish Odo were here. At least he gave me a little respect."

* * *

So, what do you think? Thanks to those who have reviewed - you're all very kind! Advice and suggestions have been taken on board.

Chapter Five is this way.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Little by little, Odo awoke and memories returned.

He remembered the crash and drowning in floods of relief when he realised that he had saved the lives of his friends. He remembered feeling duty bound to work out where they were and how they could get home before the others woke.

He remembered walking into a wall of fatigue as soon as he tried to move.

Then there was nothing.

He didn't assume his comfortable humanoid shape straight away, instead taking a little time to examine the space into which he had puddled.

He was aware of soft earth below him and the runabout above, though the expected low hum of the craft's generators was ominously absent.

He formed part of himself into a slender finger and reached out tentatively, feeling the jagged metal edge of the runabout hull.

So, he had slipped out through a hull breach.

He did not waste time hoping that the atmosphere was breathable. If it wasn't, Kira and O'Brien were long dead and his efforts would have been for nothing. If it was, they would need his help making repairs.

He braced the "finger" against the floor of the craft and allowed himself to pool through the opening until he stood in his familiar form, a slight frown on his face as he surveyed the wreckage.

The runabout was completely irretrievable, though it looked like some-one had been attempting to access the main computer from the engineering panel; cannibalized wires and circuits tangled together in a hotchpotch of engineering that could only be O'Brien's doing.

Of the Chief and Kira, though, there was no sign.

He stepped out into the late afternoon sun, shadows lengthening around him, and scanned the horizon, one hand raised to shield his eyes in an unconscious habit he had picked up from his days as a solid.

The grasslands around him led to a group of small hills some one hundred yards away, whilst behind him lay the remains of a copse of trees which the runabout had demolished when it crashed.

There wasn't a soul to be seen.

He tried to gather his thoughts.

Kira and O'Brien had obviously gone to explore the area, but how long ago?

The runabout was cold, stone cold. The jagged hull breach had none of the expected smuoldering edges of a recent crash. They must have been gone at least a day.

Which suggested they had run into trouble in some shape or form.

A thorough examination of the site turned up no clues as to which way they may have gone and Odo found himself feeling useless all over again.

It would help if he didn't feel so wretched tired.

The crash must have taken more out of him than he thought and a full eight hours of regeneration would do him the world of good.

But not just yet. For now, his duty lay in finding his friends.

He began walking.

* * *

An hour later he was ready to topple.

The grassland had soon given way to hills that he would normally have jogged over. As it was, they may as well have been mountains. Fatigue he had only ever experienced as a solid was eating through him, and he knew that he would have to rest soon.

He didn't know how far he had come, but the shadows were long as the sun sank slowly behind the horizon and without knowing what creatures might find him, he did not relish the idea of regenerating in the open air.

So he forced his tired body up one more hill.

And found paradise on the other side.

Having known only the Cardassian Occupation for most of his life, Odo had never seen Bajor as it was at its peak.

He imagined, though, that it must have looked something like the scene he saw before him.

A small stone house was nestled snugly into the hill, wisps of smoke twisting from the chimney in lazy spirals.

A sturdy barn stood just beyond the house, its doors standing open as two small children played an obscure game of chase in and out of its musky depths.

Odo could make out what looked like chickens stalking bossily between the barn and the house, pecking fussily at the ground as they expertly avoided the children's' running feet; and from within the barn itself came the snorting whinny of horses.

Pulling himself up to his full height, he made his way carefully down the hill just as the door to the house opened and a large, dark haired woman stepped out.

She was carrying a pan beneath her arm and stood just outside the door throwing handfuls of grain to the chickens.

As if sensing the stranger, she looked up and stared open mouthed at him for a moment before turning and calling into the house, "Lars!"

Odo paused for only a second at the panic in her voice, before fatigue screamed at him to get inside and sleep.

He trudged across the grass towards the house as the woman gathered up the now curious children and shooed them inside just as their father came out.

Lars was built smaller than his ample wife, though he was an inch or two taller.

His dark hair was cut straight across in a fringe whereas hers hung to the middle of her back in a heavy plait. They and the children were all dressed in simple overshirts, though the girl and her mother's were longer and Lars and the boy also wore trousers.

He met Odo halfway and regarded him with a cautious eye, "Can I help you, friend?"

Odo nodded wearily, "I would be grateful for a place to rest for an hour or two."

The woman ran up to join her husband, making no attempt to greet their visitor, "Lars! He's a deviant!"

Lars waved her away and smiled at Odo, "You look in need of a rest. You're welcome to stay."

"Thank you."

He began to lead him towards the house, but the woman tugged at his arm, her voice a ridiculous whisper, "Lars!"

"The Creator teaches tolerance, Rissa. He's done us no harm."

"We should report him. It's the law."

Lars sighed, "It's an _old _law, Rissa."

"The law is the law."

Odo hesitated, warning bells ringing in his mind, and began to turn away, "I don't want to bring you any trouble. Your help has been appreciated…"

Lars shook his head, "Forgive my wife. We don't often receive visitors, Mr…"

"My name is Odo."

"Stay till morning, Odo. We've plenty of room and the night is too cold to spend sleeping beneath the stars."

Odo sighed wearily, knowing how good a full night's regeneration would make him feel, but unwilling to muddy the waters between this man and his wife, "Thank you, but no. I'll just rest for an hour or so then I must go. I'm searching for some friends. We were travelling together and got separated."

Lars smiled, "The night is setting in and it'll be dark before you've gone more than a mile. Rest a while and build your strength. We'll find your friends in good time and you'll be of no use to them if you're dead on your feet."

Odo considered the man before him.

Honest and friendly, he presented a direct contrast to his suspicious wife.

He wondered briefly what she had meant when she called him a deviant and what sort of trouble his presence was liable to cause between them.

He could see the children, both small and fair haired, as they peeked curiously from the door of the house, wondering who this stranger was who had gotten their mother so worried.

The little boy flashed Odo his father's beaming smile and whispered something to his sister before they both burst into giggles.

Rissa turned and gave them a disapproving glare and they scampered back into the house as their mother turned to their visitor, "If you're staying, come in. The children's routine has been disturbed enough."

And she turned and walked away.

Lars patted Odo on the shoulder, "Come and meet them, Odo, before they burst with curiosity."

The evening passed quickly and unexpectedly pleasantly, taken up with bouts of song and childish games, mainly hide and seek which the seven year old boy, Darriel, won easily time after time; much to the chagrin of ten year old Lisha.

As he allowed the boy to climb into his lap for the fifth time that evening, Odo realized with some surprise and more than a little guilt, that he had not thought about Kira and O'Brien for over an hour.

Perhaps Lars had been right. Perhaps even the most single-minded of people needed to rest once in a while. He certainly felt a lot better, though the fatigue still bubbled beneath the surface.

But what of them? What of the Chief and the Major? What were they doing whilst he was warm and comfortable and safe?

He knew nothing of the people of this planet, but it was obvious that they had both religious beliefs and a structured system of law - a system of which Rissa was particularly fearful.

Had they managed to stay clear of trouble or were they languishing somewhere waiting for him to help them?

Noticing his new guest's hesitation, Lars caught his giggling son up in his arms and ruffled his hair, "Time for bed. We have a busy day tomorrow"

Odo shook himself out of his reverie and stood, giving Rissa a short bow, "I'll sleep in the barn, if it's more convenient. I'll be warm enough."

The woman regarded him through narrowed eyes, then pulled a blanket off of the sofa, "There's hay in the loft. Breakfast is at sun up. You're welcome to join us."

He took the blanket and, with a nod to Lars, headed for the barn, closing the door behind him.

He lay the blanket out in the far corner of the hay loft, deep enough into the shadows that it could not be seen should anyone decide to enter the barn.

He had enjoyed his evening in the company of the children, even if their mother was less than trusting of him.

He understood her fears and the compromises she felt she was making in allowing him to stay and he promised her he would do nothing to give those fears a firmer grounding.

For now, though, he was achingly tired.

He stepped onto the blanket and let go, allowing control to fade as his regeneration cycle began.

As consciousness left him, he could hear Lars and Rissa arguing.

* * *

Morning came quickly and Odo stepped from the barn feeling better than he had in a long while.

He shook the remnants of straw from Rissa's blanket and folded it carefully over his arm before heading for the house.

Darriel and Lisha were playing chase in and out of the poultry, scattering fowl in screeching flurries of wings and feathers as they went.

They called to him as he approached and Darriel abandoned the game to grab at Odo's legs in an unexpected and somewhat disconcerting hug.

Although he had read up on infants and children, he had very little hands on experience with them and their curious, tactile nature was taking some getting used to.

He simply was not used to being hugged.

He patted the boy somewhat gruffly and walked with him to the house.

Rissa was cooking at the stove, adding plates of cooked meat and eggs to the already bountiful table.

She looked up briefly and Odo held out the blanket, "My thanks. I slept comfortably."

When she made no move to take it, he laid it across the back of the sofa and stood somewhat awkwardly, looking at her back as Darriel climbed onto a stool and began to help himself to breakfast.

Rissa turned and rapped the boy on the knuckles with the spoon, making him yelp, "Mama!"

"Fetch your sister and wash up before you eat."

With a grumble, the child did as he was told.

Odo moved to help Rissa as she turned with yet another dish, "Allow me."

She pulled it away, "I can manage, thank you. Help yourself to breakfast before it gets cold."

Odo sighed and gave up trying to get on her good side.

He had seen fear induced bigotry before and knew he would not succeed.

Having no need for food he began to look for another way out of this uncomfortable situation, "Where is Lars."

She didn't look up, "He left early. The harvest won't bring itself in."

* * *

Odo found Lars standing precariously astride an already full wagon, securing another armful of corn to the load.

The man waved heartily when he saw him, wiping a sleeve across his sweating brow, "Odo!"

He eyed the scythe Odo had found in the barn and held balanced in his unskilled hands, "Come to help?"

"I've never done this before, but I'll give it a try."

Lars jumped down off the wagon and slapped him on the back, "It's not that difficult. Darriel has got it licked and he's only seven."

"He doesn't help with the harvest?"

Lars laughed, "In a couple more years he might actually be taller than the scythe, then he'll help."

He reached out and adjusted Odo's grip, "Hold it like this or you'll cut your foot off."

After an hour of trying to teach Odo how to safely wield the tool, Lars sat down on the wheel of the wagon and laughed, "Well, you were right about one thing. You're certainly no farmer."

Odo gave a gruff laugh, "Nature and I have never had a chance to get to know each other properly."

With a chuckle, Lars went to the front of the wagon and tossed a large basket to him, before tucking a second under his own arm, "Well, we'll start at the beginning, then."

He plucked the head off of the nearest stalk of corn and dropped it in the basket, "Do you think you can do that?"

Odo growled, "I think I can handle it."

They walked up and down the rows of corn for the next hour, slowly filling the baskets with the fresh ears.

Finally Odo turned to Lars, "Why does Rissa call me a deviant?"

Lars stopped walking for a second to look at him, then carried on through the corn, "You don't know?"

Odo increased his stride to keep pace, "I'm a traveller. I've always been a traveller."

"Your face, my friend."

"It's not that different from yours…"

Lars stopped again and gazed steadily at him, "It's _different_. In the eyes of the law, that's enough."

Odo nodded tugging at a stubborn ear of corn, "Then why haven't you reported me?"

Lars reached out with his knife and snicked the ear from the stalk, "You're a good man, Odo. The stories we're told as children paint all deviants as monsters, evil demons who come in the night and steal naughty boys and girls."

He laughed nervously, "I've even told them to Lisha and Darriel." He shrugged, "The deviancy law is an ancient one, stemming from the war with the savages and our fear of anyone not of the people. The savages are long gone but the fear remains."

He looked up at his new friend with a sad smile and returned the knife to his belt, "Not everyone around here will wait to get to know you before they judge you, my friend. And I have to think of my family first. It's' best you move on as soon as possible."

Odo nodded, understanding the man's reluctance to trust him too far.

He reached out and pulled another ear of corn from its stalk and dropped it in the basket.

They worked in silence for a few minutes before Lars lowered the basket and wiped a sleeve across his dripping brow, "You have to understand, Odo. The law is strict on these matters…and Rissa…"

"I understand. I'll stay to finish the harvest and then I have to find my friends."

"You don't have to…"

"I owe you that much."

Lars pulled a canteen from round his shoulder and took a deep swig of the water, pouring a long stream over his already sopping hair.

He gasped and shook his head vigorously, showering Odo with tiny droplets, "We'll go over the routes tonight, my friend. There aren't many places they could have gone."

Odo placed his basket next to Lars', refusing the offer of a drink with a small shake of the head, "Your help is much appreciated…"

A cry from the distance cut him off and they turned as one and ran back down the track in time to see Lisha come crashing through corn stalks that were taller than she was, her face a crumpled red smudge of tears and dirt.

Dropping the canteen Lars knelt down and caught his sobbing daughter in strong arms, "What is it, Lisha?"

"Darriel…" She paused gasping, trying catch her breath through the tears, "He was collecting berries on the cliff path…"

Lars was off and running before she could finish the sentence.

They could hear Rissa calling long before they reached the edge of the corn field; and Odo recognised the suppressed panic of parental anxiety as she tried to reassure her son without frightening him.

He knew what they would find at the cliff edge, but the sight of the big woman stretched out on the grass, leaning precariously over the precipice, arms reaching desperately for the child they could not yet see, filled him with pity.

His experience with children was limited in the extreme, but he remembered all too well the heart rending feeling of helplessness he had gone through when the Changeling infant he had been caring for died in his hands.

That the infant had given back to him the gift of shape-shifting with the last of its strength, had touched him deeper than anyone would ever know.

He had spent the day as a hawk, soaring high above the promenade, screeching his melancholy cry of mourning, in the vain hope that whatever remained of his charge would know what it was to be a bird.

What it was to be truly free.

That night, he had wished for the first and only time to be solid again, so that he could cry for a life that was never to be.

Secure in the knowledge that he could not stand by and watch some-one else go through the same nightmare, he lengthened his stride and reached the cliff top a good ten metres ahead of Lars.

Rissa looked up at him in desperation, her fear of him momentarily forgotten, unshed tears glistening in her eyes, "It's Darriel."

He knelt next to her and peered over the edge.

The boy was balanced on a protruding ledge far below them, the wind that had seemed so refreshing in the fields, biting into his tear stained face like a knife.

His arms were stiff as he tried desperately to grip onto the rock face as if fear itself could pitch him over.

Perhaps if he were a little older, a little more in control of his fear, he would have stood a chance; but at seven years of age, his body trembling, his scrabbling hands finding no purchase against the sheer cliff face, Odo knew it was only a matter of time before he slipped.

With only the rocks of the quarry floor to break his fall.

He laid himself out full length, stretching as far over the edge as his current form would allow and called to the child, "Darriel. Can you hear me?"

Darriel didn't move, his eyes tight shut as he tried to blot out what was happening to him, hoping against child-like hope that if he ignored his plight for long enough it may just go away.

Odo sighed and edged forward a fraction of an inch, "Darriel, I know you're afraid, but you have to listen to me."

The boy's head turned just a little, as if he were listening which Odo took as a good sign, "I need you to lay yourself down flat on the ledge, Darriel. The wind won't feel as strong."

Darriel's fingers whitened as he hugged harder at the rock face and Odo heard a small whimper as the little head shook, "I…_can't_…"

"Yes you can." His mind raced as another whimper, louder this time, trembled through the child's body.

If he allowed the boy to give in to fear now, only tragedy would follow, "Remember how you hid in the cupboard last night? I couldn't find you, could I? The cupboard was so small that I didn't think anyone could possibly hide there. But you did - you made yourself smaller. That's all you have to do. Do you hear me, Darriel? Curl up as small as you can and hide from the wind."

Slowly, ever so slowly, Darriel lowered himself to his knees, his imaginary hold on the cliff face never breaking, as Odo silently willed him on.

He heard a sharp intake of breath from Rissa as she got to her knees, "He'll fall!"

"No, he won't."

The panic, held in check for so long, began to betray her, and she gripped Odo's arm, "He has to keep still! Why are you telling him to move?"

He tried to slip the hold on his arm without hurting her, but her nails were digging into his Changeling skin and she wouldn't let go.

He reluctantly turned his attention from Darriel to Rissa, prising her fingers away one at a time, "While the wind is buffeting him he will panic. If he makes himself as small as possible the effect will be lessened. We have a better chance of getting to him safely if he is calm. Now, please.."

Lars reached out and took his wife's shoulders, pulling her gently away, "He knows what he's doing, Rissa, leave him be."

She shook him off, fury replacing fear as she squared up to her husband, "What kind of man are you that you leave your son's life in the hands of a deviant?"

He reached out again, "Rissa…"

"No!" She slapped his hands away, her face reddening as she stepped closer, "If he falls you will be to blame…"

The small man did not flinch, matching her fury with a little of his own as he grabbed her arms and blazed at her, "Who was it allowed him to play so near the edge? How many times have I told you…"

With one smooth movement Odo pushed between them, treating each to a taste of his most malevolent glare, his voice like thunder, "This is not helping."

The silence which followed was almost tangible, broken only by the quiet sobbing of Lisha as she sat a little apart from the warring adults, her knees hugged to her chest, her face buried in her arms.

Rissa spared her husband a final flash of anger before going to her daughter and gathering her into her lap, whispering words of love and comfort into her hair.

Lars made to join them, but Odo stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, "Lars…"

The man looked up at him and Odo saw fear and distress fighting for dominance in his eyes.

He would never understand this solid need to hurt some-one you loved just to make yourself feel better and he knew that Lars and Rissa would have much to talk about once this was over.

For now, though, he needed the man's help. He kept his voice low as he led him back to the cliff edge, "I'm worried about the stability of that ledge."

They lay flat and peered over once more.

Darriel was now curled up in a tight, motionless ball, leaning slightly into the minimal security of the rock as far away from the edge as possible and Lars realised for the first time how precarious his son's position was.

Had it been anyone else who had fallen, the ledge would have given way long ago. He scrambled to his feet, "I'm going down to get him."

Odo stopped him again as he actually began to swing his legs out over the precipice, "Fetch a rope. I'll lower you down."

Lars pulled himself to his feet, "There's rope in the barn. I'll be two minutes."

And he set out across the grass as swift as a hare.

"…mr odo…"

He missed it at first, and it was only when the small cry came for a second time that he realised Darriel was calling to him.

He leant out as far as he could once more, "I'm here, Darriel."

The boy did not uncurl himself, some inner self telling him that he would be safe if he stayed still, and his voice was muffled, "…are mamma and papa fighting..?"

"Not any more. They were a little bit scared. It's nothing to worry about."

There was a pause, "…mr odo…"

"Yes."

"…I'm scared too…"

Odo smiled softly, reminded of the time Molly O'Brien had gotten herself lost on the Promenade and had crept into his office, bottom lip trembling, to tell him in a very direct manner that she was scared and about to cry and would appreciate it very much if he found her Daddy for her, "I know you're scared, Darriel, but we'll have you out of there soon. I promise."

"…when my grass lizard got caught in a spider trap papa promised that it would be all right, but it died…" Another pause, "…I don't trust promises…"

"You can trust mine."

Darriel fell silent for a moment as he considered this and Odo heard Rissa join him at the cliff edge, her voice quiet, her temper reigned in, "Is he all right?"

"As well as can be expected."

"I've sent Lisha back to the house. It's best that she's not here."

Odo sighed, "He is not going to fall."

She flashed him a resigned smile, "I'm not a child, Odo, I heard what you said about the ledge. Now I will thank you to leave me alone with my son."

With just a moments hesitation and one last look at Darriel, he left Rissa to stammer calming platitudes to her son, knowing deep down that the boy had wisdom beyond his years and was not expecting to survive his ordeal.

And knowing just as certainly that he, Odo, did not make promises lightly, had never broken one, and did not intend to start now.

A cry from the cliff edge snapped him out of his reverie and he bolted back to Rissa's side.

She was stretched out on the grass again, almost toppling, screaming her son's name over and over.

Odo threw himself flat next to her and looked over the edge.

As he feared, the ledge had given way, though, to his utter amazement, Darriel was clinging on to the few jutting fragments, legs kicking at empty air, eyes streaming with silent tears as they locked onto Odo's and pleaded with him to keep his promise.

In that second of contact, Odo knew that it was time to stop pretending, to stop lying to these people.

As Darriel's hands began to slip, he called out to the boy, "Close your eyes." And in a final act of trust, the child did just that.

Rissa watched in terror and amazement as her son lost his tenuous grip on the rock face and fell.

As _something_ shot down at breakneck speed and wrapped itself in amber coils around his waist, snapping him to a halt.

A grunt of not quite pain from Odo pulled her gaze back to him and she screamed again.

His _arms_! His arms were gone. Replaced by undulating rivers of …she knew not what. She backed away as fast as she could, "Sweet Creator…"

Odo ignored her as he concentrated on pulling Darriel safely back to the top of the cliff.

He was aware of her scrambling away from him, of running feet, and knew that his time in this idyllic haven was over.

He set the gaping child on his feet and released him, allowing himself to reform into his familiar humanoid shape.

Rissa was gone. He could see her running towards home, her skirts flying. He looked down at Darriel, "I think it's time I went."

The boy was gazing up at him in awe, "How did you do that? Is it because you're a deviant?"

"I'm not a deviant, I'm a Changeling."

A frown, "I don't know what that is."

Odo gave a short, gruff laugh, "Thank your Creator for that."

"Are you here to hurt us?"

"I'm a law enforcement officer. I don't hurt people, I protect them."

Darriel scratched his head and frowned, "Than why do you need to run away from us? You saved me from the cliff, papa and mamma will want you to stay."

"Maybe."

The boy tugged at his hand, "Of course they will!"

He led Odo back towards the house just as his parents came into view,

Lars running full pelt ahead of his wife, "You shouldn't worry so much, Mr Odo," said Darriel, "Mama says there are enough worries in the world without us inventing new ones…" And then he was being scooped up in his father's arms, the breath squeezed out of him as the relief filled hug intensified, "Papa. You're _hurting_ me!"

Lars released his son and turned to Odo, "Thank you. Thank you, my friend."

"You're welcome." He paused, "I can explain…"

Lars held up his hands, "You've given me my son's life, Odo. How you did it is not important. Just remember what I said earlier. Not everyone will understand."

They walked back to the house together, Rissa's eyes never leaving Odo's back as she walked hand in hand with Darriel.

They were almost home before her courage allowed her to approach the strange man, "I'm sorry. You scared me. I wasn't expecting…"

He shook his head, "Apologies are not necessary."

Lisha met them half way, shouting and pointing excitedly, "Papa! Horses!"

Across the grassland they could see a posse of horsemen, still little more than specks in the distance.

With his keen eyes, Odo could make out more than the farmers, "One of them is carrying some kind of standard."

Lars looked at him in shock, "Are you sure?"

There was a strangled gasp from Rissa, "Oh, Creator…"

"What is it?"

She backed away, shaking her head, "The merchants. I forgot about the merchants."

"Merchants? What about them?"

She looked up at him in wide eyed shock, "Oh, Lars, I was afraid…I was afraid for the children…"

Lars stared at her aghast, "Rissa. What have you done?"

Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled unchecked, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! I sent word to town last night. I told them about Odo."

"You did _what_?"

Rissa took his arm, pleading with her husband, begging him to see what to her was obvious, "He's a deviant, Lars."

He shook her off, fury sparking in his eyes, "He saved our son's life!"

She faltered, her voice a pitiful wail, "I didn't know that would happen, I didn't know."

Without another word, Lars ran to the barn and untethered two of the horses, flinging simple saddles onto their backs before leading them outside.

He handed one of the tethers to a somewhat startled Odo, "Quickly. I can get you to the next town. I've friends there."

Rissa helped the inexperienced Changeling fasten the saddle securely, her face wet with tears of fear and shame, "Odo, I'm sorry."

Swinging himself into the saddle, her husband glared down at her, "Look after the children, Rissa. I'll be back by nightfall."

"What should I tell them?"

"Tell them the deviant left at sunrise and that I've gone into town for supplies."

As Odo pulled himself cautiously astride his mount, Darriel ran up to him, raising his arms to be lifted.

The Changeling hoisted the boy into his lap and succumbed to the now expected hug, "I'll see you again, Darriel."

"Promise?"

Odo smiled, his flat-lipped smile, "Promise."

Darriel nodded and Odo returned him to the ground.

"Mr Odo?"

"Yes, Darriel?"

The child looked up at him with earnest eyes, "Remember, if you get in trouble make yourself small."

"I'll remember."

And then Lars was at his side, his mount tugging impatiently at the reigns.

With a final look at the little house and its family, Odo followed his friend over the hill and out of sight.

* * *

And so it continues...please let me know what you think.

It's lonely in front of this screen and I'd love to know you're out there!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six 

Marius was screaming at them again and O'Brien had to concentrate to take in what he was saying.

After Kira had been dragged away from him at the Arena, things had happened quickly.

He had expected to be pulled from the cell and made to take his turn in battle, knowing full well he could no more perform for their self appointed masters than she could.

Instead, the door had remained firmly closed and he and Jhemor had listened in hushed anticipation as a melee of raised voices bayed for blood.

He thought he heard Kira call to him but could not be sure. Then the door was thrown open and they were forced outside to stand with the other prisoners in the middle of the Arena.

The amphitheatre was emptying rapidly, the well-dressed spectators dispersing in huddles of twos and threes, grumbling amongst themselves and casting angry glances at the gathered inmates.

As he took his place in line, O'Brien felt Jhemor nudging up to him in a vain attempt to hide, to feel safe.

He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and held him steady, "Keep it together, son."

Soon the last of the merchants had left and a nervous hush fell over the prisoners.

From somewhere in the distance they could hear shouting, two, maybe three voices arguing back and forth. And then Marius was in front of them, his face blazing in anger, the dagger still clenched in his whitening knuckles.

He paced up and down like a caged tiger, every sinew in his body standing out as he fought with his fury, before kicking a huge scuff of sand into the air and screaming, "This has never happened before. _Never_!"

His flaming eyes sought out O'Brien and he stalked forward and thrust the dagger under his nose, "You planned it between you, didn't you?"

O'Brien held his gaze, his voice steady, "We planned nothing."

The dagger disappeared and Marius was in his face, "_Liar_!"

"I'm not a liar."

Heavy fists gripped the front of his tunic and dragged him closer to the seething overseer, "Don't contradict me!"

O'Brien braced himself for a battering that never came as a cruel scowl spread across Marius' face and he pushed the Chief away, "Not that it matters anymore. You were all told the penalty for breaking the rules; and she broke them in a big way."

"What have you done with her?"

"Nothing she didn't deserve."

O'Brien felt his temper fraying at the edges as his fists clenched in fury, "What have you done to her!"

Marius stepped close again, his voice almost calm, "Don't raise your voice to me, prisoner."

As a boy, Miles' mother had often warned him that his temper would get him into trouble one day.

The usual laid back joviality that everyone on DS9 would recognise was peppered at the time with the bouts of door slamming and picked fights that encroach on a many a youth during adolescence.

As the years passed, they became more and more controlled until losing his temper - _really_ losing his temper - was a once in a blue moon occurrence.

He would have to be pushed too hard and too far: and right now Marius was _pushing_.

Before he knew what he was doing, O'Brien had the man by the front of the shirt, his moon face reddening, "Where is my friend, Dammit!"

He was pulled off almost immediately by rough handed guards who threw him to the ground and stamped on him, before Marius waved them away and crouched next to him, hissing in his ear, "Your friend is perfectly safe, prisoner. You'll see her again."

O'Brien spat out a mouthful of dust and glared up at him, "When?"

"Soon enough." He reached out and pulled him to his feet, not letting go of his tunic as the anger re-ignited in his eyes, "And if you _ever_ touch me again, you'll get a taste of what she has coming."

And he slammed his fist into the Irishman's stomach, sneering as he collapsed to his knees once more.

One of the guards walked haltingly up to Marius and tapped him on the shoulder, "Sir?"

He spun on him with a look of death, "What!"

The man quaked, "Sorry, sir, it's just…"

The most arrogant voice O'Brien had ever heard cut through the air, "It's just that _we_ are waiting to speak with you."

For just a second a look of fear played across the overseer's face as he turned towards the newcomers.

There were two of them, both men, both clad in finery the gathered prisoners could only dream of owning.

The speaker was tall and slender, his hair receding in a graceful widow's peak, his steel gray eyes ice cold.

His companion was shorter but no less well-groomed, his muscle tone more defined than his skinny companion.

He was taking dainty bites at a piece of fruit as he walked, seemingly more intent on his snack than on the people before him.

O'Brien recalled seeing them briefly as he first entered the Arena, perched atop fine chairs overlooking the stadium, like some kind of ancient Roman Emperors.

They carried themselves with dignity - too much dignity - as they approached. Small steps gave them a casual air, whilst they peered down their noses at all around them as if offended by some bad smell.

They held their cloaks across one arm, keeping them clear of the dust, and stopped just short of the overseer.

Marius bowed low, "Sirs, I assure you…"

The taller of the two waved a hand, silencing him, "I had wagered a large amount of money on the outcome of that bout, Marius."

"Yes, sir…"

"My Grandfather recalls often the tales of the last deviant we had at Caspii, but I never really believed them to be true."

"There haven't been many, Lord."

The man gave him the hardest of stares, "No. Which is why this bout attracted so much attention."

Marius swallowed and shifted his feet, "Sir, if you would allow me to…"

The smaller man finished the last of the fruit and threw the core in the dust, wiping his hands on his cloak, "No excuses, Marius. Your deviant displayed abject cowardice and a blatant disregard for the honour of the games. As overseer you are to be held accountable."

"But…"

A scowl of contempt marred the lofty features, "_Accept_ your responsibilities, man! Cowardice and incompetence will _not _be tolerated."

Marius' voice was steady, though the anger was plain to see as it simmered beneath the surface, "In ten years, my competence has _never_ been brought into question."

The taller man stamped his foot like a child having a tantrum, "Well, _we_ question it now!"

Marius bowed again, "Lord…"

The man smiled, his temper in check when he realised he was not going to be argued with.

His expression was smug, like a schoolboy who had successfully bullied his way to the head of the lunch queue without attracting the attention of the teachers, "We expect an immediate improvement in your performance, Marius. Your fee for this…this _farce_ has been withheld to cover our losses."

"I understand."

He yawned, bored, "You will, of course, arrange the relevant entertainment for tomorrow morning."

For the first time, Marius smiled, "I am seeing to it _personally_, Lord."

"I'm sure you are."

Without another word they turned and left the Arena.

O'Brien watched warily as Marius fought to keep his anger in check, knowing that now, with his pride wounded, he was at his most dangerous.

But when the overseer finally spoke it was in almost level tones to one of the guards, "Get them back inside and feed them. I have business to attend to."

And he stalked off after the merchants.

Small hands helped O'Brien to his feet and he looked into Jhemor's frightened face, "They're going to hang her, Mr 'Brien."

"What?"

Jhemor bit his lip to hold back the tears, "That's what they do."

* * *

Marius had not returned by the time the prisoners were herded into the dining hall and served a plate of something at which O'Brien suspected Worf would turn up his nose.

He was sitting opposite Jhemor at the end of one of the three banquet length tables as they both wolfed down their first proper meal in days.

A shadow fell across the table and he looked up into the battered face of Katalia, the woman Kira had defeated in the Arena.

She placed her plate opposite his and sat down, uninvited, "Can I speak with you, O'Brien?"

He barely acknowledged her, "I've nothing to say to you."

She reached out with one big hand and held his wrist, preventing him from eating, "What happened was not my fault."

He shook her off and scooped up another spoonful of the obnoxious food, "You seemed to enjoy it."

Katalia shuffled, uncomfortable and turned to Jhemor, "Go and get a pitcher of water, boy. And take your time over it."

Jhemor swallowed and looked to O'Brien, "Mr 'Brien..?"

He nodded briefly, "Go ahead, son." And Jhemor wandered away.

Katalia took a large spoonful of her own food, "I was fighting for my life."

"So was she."

She leant forward with a hiss of impatience, "I've no time for this, little man. Do you want the deviant to live or not?"

"What?"

She looked around cautiously, satisfying herself that no guards were within earshot, "We're getting out of here."

"We?"

"All of us."

O'Brien looked at her, "When?"

"Tomorrow. The execution will be perfect cover."

He dropped the spoon and glared at her in amazement, "Perfect cover!"

She gripped his arm and squeezed, eyes blazing, "Keep your voice down!"

Aware that one of the guards had glanced their way, he picked up the spoon and carried on eating, his voice a harsh whisper, "I thought you asked me whether I wanted her to live!"

Katalia prodded unenthusiastically at her own plate, "She'll live. They'll be too busy trying to catch the rest of us to worry about her."

"All right. Suppose we do get out. Where would we go? A hundred or so people all running through the prison gates is going to look a little suspicious…"

"We have friends on the outside."

"Friends…okay." He paused then leant further forward, "Look, I'll level with you. Kira and I are here through no fault of our own, but what about the rest of you? I have a real problem with endangering innocent lives…"

Her face was a picture in incredulity, "You really _are_ new to the area, aren't you? Caspii is a prison for the innocent. Hadn't you figured that out yet?"

"Innocent? But…"

She waved a hand at the huddled group eating at the next table, a mixture of fear and sorrow as they forced down food not fit for swine, "Look around you, O'Brien. Look at them. Do you see the faces of criminals? Does Jhemor look like a criminal to you?"

"No."

"We're all deviants here, O'Brien, in our own ways. But if your Kira is a deviant in body, _we_ are deviants up here." She tapped her head, "In our minds."

He frowned, "I don't understand."

She was becoming impatient, "What is it with you? Everyone knows what happens if you cross the merchants. _Everyone_."

"Well _I_ don't"

"Our civilisation has survived for close to two thousand years." She raised a sarcastic eyebrow, "You knew _that,_ I take it?"

He feigned an equally sarcastic stance as he took in as much information as she was willing to give, "Of course."

She clenched her fists in frustration, willing him to see the point she was trying to make, "Well, there's the problem. We've _survived_. We haven't flourished, we haven't progressed. We've rolled along in our little rut with no sign of getting out."

He shrugged as he tried to fit together the minimal patchy knowledge he had of this world, "We seem to be doing okay."

"But we could be doing better." She hadn't meant to raise her voice and O'Brien saw a touch of panic cross her face as the guard walked towards them.

The man leant over her, "Is one beating a day not enough for you?"

She kept her eyes down, "I'm sorry."

"Keep your mouth shut, Katalia, or you'll be back in the Arena…" he grinned, "…facing _me._"

She lowered her head submissively and the guard swaggered away to bully someone else.

Sure, once more, that they were unobserved, Katalia leant back towards O'Brien, "You _must_ have heard the rumours."

"What rumours?"

"The wonders. I heard that the merchants light their palaces with the power of the sun."

He gave a short laugh, "Don't we all?"

She hissed in frustration, "But they _store_ the light and use it at night. And I heard they have carriages that don't need beasts to pull them. "

Alarm bells began to ring in O'Brien's head. How could people from a basically mediaeval civilisation even _visualise_ concepts like solar energy and powered vehicles? He mimicked a look of disbelief, "They're just stories." And he raised the spoon to his mouth once more.

She reached out again and stopped him, her grip like iron that bruised his wrist, "If they're just stories, why was I thrown in here for telling them? Why is everyone who has a bad word to say about them arrested? What are they trying to hide?"

She was getting a little too loud again and he knew the guards were short on patience.

He held up his free hand to calm her down, "Even if you're right. How are you going to prove it?"

She smiled, seeing in him an ally for the first time, and released him, "We have to get out first. The rest will happen."

He snorted, "I admire your confidence."

She let it ride, "Will you join us, O'Brien?"

He glanced over towards the other side of the room where a small figure was watching them in wide eyed anticipation, a large pitcher of water clutched to his chest, "What about Jhemor?"

She shrugged, "He's a half wit."

O'Brien's voice was steady, "He's my friend."

"Bring him, then." She got to her feet, picking up her plate, "But he is _your _responsibility."

"You're all heart. What do we do?"

She studied him for a moment, "You do nothing until the execution. Then you get your deviant friend and you run like hell."

* * *

Kira hit the cell floor hard and lay still, catching her breath.

Every muscle in her body ached and the bridge of her nose was tender. She sniffed and ran a tentative hand across her face, moaning softly when it came away bloody.

Her guard knelt next to her and tipped her chin upwards with a short laugh, "You think that hurts, deviant? Well you wait until the morning."

She swallowed, "The morning?"

He nodded with cruel enthusiasm, "They _hang_ you in the morning. The merchants don't like to be crossed. Didn't you know that?"

The door slammed shut as he left, plunging her into a barely half light and for the first time in a long while Kira Nerys was afraid.

Not of dying or anything as basic as that, not even of the things her imagination told her they would do to her before they killed her.

She was a member of the Shakaar, scourge of every Cardassian in the Alpha Quadrant and she was used to death and all her charming ways.

It was the fact that she had failed that scared her the most.

She had failed in her command of the simplest of missions and now the last surviving member of her crew was doomed to live out the rest of his life as a slave to the most primitive of regimes.

His children would never see him again, never know what had befallen him and his wife would cry herself to sleep at night in mourning for a lost love.

All because of her.

Her common sense told her that she was not to blame, that there was nothing she could have done; but in her head she could hear Sisko's voice as he stiffly informed her that a commanding officer is responsible for _everything_ that happens on his or her watch, his or her ship, his or her mission.

He was the Emissary and his voice was a lot louder than hers.

Somewhere deep down she believed that he could solve anything, make anything right. When he was around she knew that the good guys would win.

As soon as they worked out who the good guys were.

Kira was a strong woman who could take care of herself, but now she wished more than anything that Sisko would show up.

That he would break down the door and take her home where she could worry about Cardassians and Jem'Hadar and Klingons and all the normal things people worry about. Where she would be in control.

She pulled herself to her feet and shuffled back against the wall, wiping her still bleeding nose on the sleeve of her tunic as she took a long look at the cell around her.

Cell, she decided, was too grand a word for the pit she had been thrown into.

The walls were made of block after block of crudely carved stone, damp with mildew and musty with age; and the ceiling was so high she could barely make it out.

There were no windows and one door with the smallest of grilled off holes offering her only view of the outside world. There was no bed, no chair, nothing.

A memory rose unbidden of times gone by.

Of being fourteen years old and huddling up against Lupaza for almost four days in a room very like this one.

Of asking in a small voice whether the Cardassians had forgotten about them, had left them to starve. Of being almost eagerly grateful when the door opened on the fifth day and Gul Perell himself had stepped inside.

By the sixth day, she was wishing for solitude once more and had lost all fear of death.

If you were dead, they couldn't hurt you.

And then Furel had shown up like the knights in shining armour from Earth legend that Dax insisted on recreating in the holosuites And he had taken them home.

And there was the difference. There was the reason she was so afraid.

On Bajor, no matter how bleak things seemed, no matter how much the Cardassians tightened their grip, there was always the chance that her friends would come for her. There was always hope.

Now Furel and Lupaza were dead, Odo was gone and the Emissary was nowhere to be seen.

There would be no last minute rescue. No arrows shot from golden bows to snap the rope around her neck.

Dax's knights in shining armour were the stuff of fairy tales her parents had never told her.

Tears welled up in her eyes and with a cry of rage and frustration, she slapped her hand against the wall, blinking them away.

She would _not _lay back and takes this. She was a _Shakaar_, for Prophet's sake. She would find a way out of this or go down fighting; and she would _not_ make it easy for them.

If they wanted to play the waiting game, she would beat them. Patience was an old friend and it was easy to get reacquainted.

As it turned out, she didn't have to wait long.

She had been standing stock still, glaring at the door, stoking the fire within herself for perhaps fifteen minutes when Marius slammed into the cell.

His face was flushed as he stalked up to her, "They called me a coward, deviant. They called me incompetent!"

He backhanded her across the face, scowling when she didn't fall, "They took _my_ dignity and _my_ money because of _you_. And you stand there…"

His anger boiled over as he ran out of words and he lurched towards her, fists clenched.

Kira stood her ground and pulled herself up to her full height, looking him in the eye, her tone one of casual mockery, "Your masters won't be too pleased if I fail to show up for my own execution. Are you going to risk another dressing down just for the pleasure of watching me bleed?"

She let her gaze travel to his toes and back again as if she were eyeing up a piece of meat, "Are you _that_ much of a sadist?"

He glared at her back as she turned away from him, "After what you've done, no-one is going to care what condition you're in."

With one more stride he was behind her, rough hands spinning her to face him then reaching for her throat with a sharp squeeze, "As long as you've got a neck to stretch, they'll be happy."

She pulled away from him with a look of pure contempt, her head spinning as her body screamed at her to rest, "I've met men like you before, _Marius, _sad little strutting bullies who think a bit of power gives them the right to hurt people. I'll give you some advice - forget it. You don't scare me."

He was watching her closely. Everything from the blood on her tunic to the pain-filled hitch in her steps as she turned her back on him for the second time told him that she was lying.

She was terrified. It was as clear as day and he would enjoy making her admit it, "Is that a challenge, deviant?"

To his fury she laughed, actually turned and laughed in his face.

The first genuine, unrehearsed emotion he had seen her express since he had dragged her out of the Arena, and it was thrown at him in mockery, "They're going to _kill_ me in a few hours. What the hell else do I have to be scared of?"

He expected further anger from her, could have coped with anger, could have knocked it out of her with a vengeance.

Instead she backed up against the wall with a sigh, eyes raised and gazing to the heavens as if searching for an answer that wasn't there.

It was as if the fight had drained out of her, "There's nothing more you can do to me. Just go away and leave me alone."

He could almost feel sorry for her as she let the wall take her weight, fighting not to show weakness in front of him.

He rarely got to see such strength from the most promising of male prisoners, let alone a scrap of a female deviant.

For a fraction of a second he considered letting her go, relishing the challenge of training her for further bouts in the Arena, further coins lining his pockets.

Then he remembered the sneering contempt on the faces of the merchants as they accused him of cowardice and incompetence and all pity was dashed from his mind.

She was a deviant, nothing more, and she would break to his will. He crossed the cell towards her, his mind made up, "Yes there is."

And then he smiled.

Realising his intent, she fought him with the last reserves of her strength, but bravado and self delusion were not enough to protect her.

Her injuries had weakened her just as his humiliation and anger fueled him, and when he left the cell, his obnoxious face twisted in a smirk, they both knew that he had won.

For two hours she felt nothing. _Refused _to feel anything. Refused to think about the pain she was in, knowing that if she did, she would have to acknowledge what he had done.

And she wasn't ready to do that. Not just yet.

She was curled up in a corner on the hard stone floor, exactly where he had left her, but in her head she was back on Bajor.

Back in the Cardassian interrogation Centre with Shakaar and Lupaza.

She tried to remember the tricks she had been taught to keep her sanity in check. Tried to call on all the old training, all the old ways which would keep her alive to fight another day.

But none of them were working.

Despite all the promises she had made to herself, all the fight she had built up within, all she could do was lay still and wish it away.

It didn't matter, though, because any minute now, Furel would break down the door and cut her bonds and carry her to safety with his one good arm; the bloody stump of the other dangling useless at his side as he gritted his teeth and cursed the Prophets in language she was far too young to hear.

Any minute now…

The door opened, a shaft of light cutting into her half open eyes as she pushed herself further into the corner in an instinctive attempt to hide from danger.

She couldn't make out any details of the figure that stepped into her cell, but she _knew _it was Furel and promised herself she would not cry in front of him like she had before.

The figure paused as its eyes adjusted to the gloom, then walked slowly towards her and knelt down, placing a plate of bread and a pitcher of water on the ground.

Behind it, the silhouetted bulk of the guard loitered in the doorway, his sword glinting in the half light.

She peered up at the person crouched before her.

It was not Furel, and she squeezed her eyes tight shut against the treacherous tears that threatened to spill as her last hope of rescue evapourated like the stuff of dreams it had always been.

"Listen to me…"

She barely heard the urgent whisper through the clouds of despair.

"Deviant. Listen to me."

She opened her eyes and scowled despite herself, "I'm not a deviant…"

The figure leant closer and Kira could make out sky blue eyes set deep in a pretty face.

The woman was perhaps a little younger than she, though her dark hair was flecked with gray, "To them you are."

"Leave me alone."

The woman touched her arm, "Stay awake tonight."

Kira peered up at her through swollen eyes, "What?"

"If you want to live you'll stay awake tonight."

"Why?"

The guard stepped into the room and beckoned impatiently, his gravel voice echoing in the empty cell, "She can feed herself, woman. Out!"

The woman began to rise, making a show of handing Kira a slab of bread, "You'll know when it happens. Don't give up."

Then she turned and hurried away.

The guard closed the door behind her and Kira was alone once more.

She pushed herself up into a sitting position, leaning hard against the wall as she fought off a wave of dizziness. Things outside were obviously about to take a turn.

Perhaps there was hope after all.

* * *

The sun had virtually gone down as Odo and Lars approached the town, their horses' breath clouding in short puffs as the temperature dropped.

The journey had taken almost three hours, the first two having seen Odo gripping on to his mount with hands and knees, hanging on desperately as the creature trotted onwards; and the sight of the gentle flames of the town lights was an immense relief to him.

By the time the horses clip-clopped over the cobbles and came to a halt outside a tavern, he was in danger of Linking with the creature, his grip was that tight; and he all but fell from the saddle as Lars tethered the reins to a post.

The farmer grinned at him, "So, you're no rider, either? How ever have you managed in the past?"

Odo grimaced and allowed his pseudo-legs to ripple gently in the almost dark as the tension finally began to dissipate, "I walked. A lot."

A roar of laughter came through the closed tavern door as some-one inside managed to amuse the drunken patrons and Lars studied his new friend's all too deviant-like face with a thoughtful frown.

He reached into his saddle bag and pulling out a soft bundle.

He shook it out and Odo saw that it was a knee length cloak made of a rough hessian with a large cowl hanging down the back. Lars handed it to him, "Put this on."

Odo shook his head, "There's no need. I can form clothing as and when required."

He held out his hands and, with a shimmer of amber substance, was wearing gloves.

The farmer paled and took an involuntary step back, "Forgive me, Odo, but I don't think I'm quite ready to see that."

The Changeling snorted and allowed the gloves to melt away, before taking the cloak and fastening it around his throat.

The hood was capacious and flopped down over his face, obscuring it from view whilst still allowing him to see.

Lars nodded in satisfaction and lead the way to the tavern.

As they reached the door he touched Odo's arm, "Stay close to me and keep quiet."

"Understood."

He pushed open the heavy wooden door and went in, the Constable pulling the itching cloak close around his head as he followed.

The bar was alive; a tortured crescendo of smells writhing on a bed of smoke and alcohol.

Bawdy men and painted women swayed in and out of tables swimming in cheap beer.

It was a sight familiar to every planet in the galaxy, Odo mused. No matter how advanced or how primitive a culture, a back street bar was a back street bar.

He looked up from beneath his hood as a large bald headed man stepped in front of them with a scowl of welcome.

And a barman was a barman.

He braced himself to run as the laughter and conversation in the tavern ended as if switched off at the mains.

Lars was standing his ground, his eyes locked with those of the giant before them and Odo wondered briefly whether the smaller man had lost his mind.

The barman took a menacing step forward, clamped a shovel of a hand down on the farmer's shoulder.

And smiled, "Lars! She finally lifted the thumb, did she!"

Odo let out a breath he didn't need to hold in the first place as Lars shook hands with the barman, "Detrius. It's been a while."

The big man pulled him into a bear hug which lifted him off the ground, "It's been a _year_ old friend. How is Rissa?"

Lars wriggled free and dropped to the floor, laughing and gasping for breath, "She's well."

"And the young ones?"

"Flourishing."

Detrius turned to Odo and peered at his shadowed face, unable to make out any details, "And who's your friend?"

"This is Odo. He's been helping out with the harvest."

Detrius chuckled, "Darriel still not taller than that scythe?"

"Not yet."

He clapped Odo on the shoulder with a hearty laugh, "I wouldn't count on any work next year, Odo. The boy is trying to think himself taller."

With the newcomers accepted, the sounds of bar life started up again and Odo found a lethal looking jar of frothy ale thrust into his hand.

He eyed it cautiously before taking an obligatory sip, drawing the liquid deep into himself for disposal later.

He followed Lars and Detrius to a small table by the window and perched on the edge of his seat, cradling the jar to his chest.

Detrius took a deep drag at his ale, wiping off his beer head moustache, "I hear you had trouble with a deviant last night."

Lars looked up from his own jar, "Some. He slept in the barn."

"You let it _stay_?"

He shrugged, "You never know how these creatures are going to behave." Detrius frowned and Lars put his drink on the table and looked at him, "I had my family to think of."

The barman nodded, "I suppose so. Where is it now?"

"He left at sunrise. Hopefully that's the last we'll see of him."

Detrius leant back in his chair with a heavy sigh and a shake of the head, "Two in one week…it must be an omen."

Odo's head shot up as he began paying attention for the first time. _Two _in one week?

Lars, though, was all peasant superstition, "An omen?"

Detrius shuffled forward drawing the two of them into a conspiratorial circle, "They say that the last deviant to be held at Caspii brought a plague that nearly wiped out the whole town."

Lars drained his glass in one, determined to move the conversation onto safer ground, "Well, he's gone now. And he's taken his plague with him."

"I'm talking about the woman.?"

Odo looked closely at him, itching for him to talk faster, "What woman?"

"Haven't you been listening, friend? They've got another deviant locked in the prison. She sabotaged the games and Marius has had to cover the merchants' losses out of his own pocket."

Lars laughed, "Ha! He must have taken that well!"

"Better than usual. He's having her executed at sunrise."

In one swift movement, Odo pushed himself away from the table and bolted for the door, Detrius gazing after him in astonishment.

Lars found him outside, absently stroking the nose of one of the horses, "It must be my friends. I have to get them out."

"Are you mad? Odo, they're in _Caspii_. No-one gets in or out unless the merchants say so."

The Changeling turned away from his friend, "Which way is it?"

"Odo…"

"Which way?"

Lars sighed, knowing he would never be able to change his mind, and pointed off into the distance, "About two miles down that road, but I'm telling you, you'll never get in."

"I have to try!"

He took Odo by the shoulders and looked at him with deep, earnest eyes, "You will be killed."

"Lars, you've been a good friend. Go home. Go back to your family, I have to do this alone."

He pulled the cloak from around his shoulders and handed it to the farmer, but the man shook his head, "Keep it. You may have need of it. _You _may be able to become anything you wish, but can your friends?"

Odo nodded and draped it back around his shoulders, flipping the hood up to cover his face, "Goodbye, my friend."

Without another word, Odo set off on foot towards the distant lights of Caspii. He didn't look back.

Lars watched him go until the night swallowed him from view, then gathered the horses' reins in one hand and turned for home.

* * *

I don't know about you lot, but I'm starting to get into this!

Thanks for sticking around and thanks for all the wonderful feedback - more please!


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

As the door to her quarters hissed shut behind her, Jadzia Dax picked up an ancient Bajoran statuette and hurled it against the wall, not caring that it shattered into a thousand irreparable pieces.

_"Feel better?" _

"No!"

_"Kira gave you that…" _

"I know!"

_"How long is this going to go on?" _

"How long is _what_ going to go on?"

_"Sit down, Jadzia." _

"I don't want…"

It wasn't often that a symbiant took forceful control of a host. Their way of life was that of a true partnership. Each knew the other so well that conflict was rare and, on the few occasions that a disagreement did arise, it was considered the height of bad manners for one to deliberately override the other.

It was for that reason that Jadzia allowed herself to sit in shocked silence on the sofa in the middle of her living quarters, having been completely unable to stop her treacherous legs from leading her there.

She felt herself take several deep calming breaths and leant back into the sofa. Dax's voice was soft, _"That's better." _

She sat bolt upright again, "He had no _right_ to relieve me of duty!"

Dax sighed, _"He had _every _right. And if you had had more than three hours sleep in the past few days you would be thinking logically enough to realise that."_

"I'm not that tired."

_"You've never lied to me before, Jadzia. Don't start now."_

She got up of her own free will and walked to the replicator, brow furrowed in thought as she ordered a slice of blood pie and a raktajino, "It's just that I _know_ there's something there, if only I can cut through the interference…"

_"I've spent years giving young Benjamin advice. Advice about work, advice about women, advice about life. Some he took, some he didn't, but he knew when I was right. _You_ know that I'm right, too, Jadzia, and you know how much your actions have hurt Benjamin."_

Jadzia returned to the sofa, placing her untouched meal on the coffee table before her, "I never meant…"

_"Friendships are shattered because of what people never meant to do…"_

For the first time in years, the first time in fact since Curzon Dax had made it his goal in life to break her spirit, Jadzia cried herself to sleep.

* * *

Negotiations went on all morning and by the time the lunch time trade rolled in Quark was light by two and a half bottles of Earth champagne. And it was worth every drop.

He wasn't sure whether it was the sight of the gemstones and the prospect of acquiring them that was making his lobes tingle, or the beautiful mercenary who was licking her full red lips just inches away from him in a manner she knew would drive him crazy.

Either way, a tingle was a tingle and his lobes were never wrong.

This deal would bring him nothing but good fortune.

Bidding had started at twelve bars of gold pressed latinum and he already had her down to eight.

If he was any kind of businessman, he would wave her from his bar with the gemstones in one hand and a receipt for three bars in the other, before selling them on at a very tidy profit.

He reached out and poured her another glass of champagne, "So, what exactly _are _they?"

The woman shrugged over the rim of her glass, licking a stray droplet from her lips as she turned one of the stones over and over in her hand, "Is it important?"

Quark smiled and replenished his own drink, "I won't treat you like an idiot, my dear. Do me the courtesy of returning the favour."

She studied him closely for a moment before glancing round the bar, making sure they were not being watched, "They're Vulcan Blood Stones."

The Ferengi frowned and put the bottle down carefully on the bar, "Vulcan Blood Stones?"

"Yes."

He raised his hands nervously, "I'm sorry, lady, but _Vulcan _Blood Stones? Rumour has it they're _sacred_."

She shrugged again, leaning in close, "To some.

"Since when has some-one else's religion stood in the way of your profits?" She reached out and stroked his ear tenderly, "I thought you were a Ferengi."

He gently took the stone from her hand, "Oh, I am, my dear, I am. And I make it a rule never to part with latinum until I've thoroughly checked the merchandise."

He opened a drawer behind the bar and pulled out a Ferengi tricorder, running the sensor over the stone and frowning at the results, "This is…well, this is…" he looked up at her in bewilderment, "What _is _this?"

She smiled, "You tell me."

"The tricorder doesn't recognise it." He smacked his hand against the instrument with an impatient growl, "it can't even make a close comparison with any known mineral."

"Really?"

He dropped the tricorder back into the drawer and held up the stone to examine it closer, "These are _not_ Vulcan Blood Stones."

She picked up another of the gems and rolled it between finger and thumb, "Probably not."

He took the gem from her and returned it to the bag with the others, pulling the drawstring tight and sliding it across the bar towards her, "Then why would I pay eight bars of latinum to acquire them?"

She pushed the bag back to him with a sigh, "Because you want to know what they are. Because you enjoy the thrill of the unknown…"

He shook his head and pushed it right back, "Not that much, I don't."

She took his hand and devoured him with her eyes, closing his unresisting fingers around the pouch of gems and breathing huskily into his now quivering ear, "And because _I _will be grateful."

He swallowed, "How grateful?"

She flicked a fingernail lightly against the inside of his lobe, bringing a delighted shudder from the hapless Ferengi, "_Very_…grateful…"

"…ah…"

And so it was, with a final glass of champagne and five bars of latinum more than he was originally willing to pay, Quark's libido talked him into becoming the proud owner of twelve green stones.

Twelve _beautiful _green stones.

Twelve beautifulgreen stones that could not be found _anywhere _on Bajor.

Twelve beautiful…green…worthless, completely unsellable…chunks of …rock.

Damn…

He watched the mercenary sway out of the bar and knew that he would never see her again.

Ah, well, it didn't hurt to let lust get in the way of business once in a while, and he could probably pick up at least fifteen bars for the stones on the open market if only…

"Hello Quark."

If only a certain Ensign Andrews could be kept preoccupied with other business.

He turned to face her with an oily smile, one hand discreetly opening the drawer below the bar whilst the other knocked the pouch of stones off of the bar and into its depths, "Chief Andrews! Always a pleasure!"

She was staring at him in a disturbingly Odo-like manner, her head slightly to one side as she twisted the corner of her mouth into a scowl, "Hand them over."

Damn the woman! Ever since the runabout accident she had ruined deal after deal for him by quoting Bajor's excessive salvage laws at the top of her voice and scaring off opportunity after opportunity.

If he didn't know better he would think she was on some kind of personal vendetta.

He spread his hands in innocence, "Hand them over? Hand what…oh, you want a drink? Shame on you - drinking on duty…"he tutted softly and reached for a glass.

Andrews' hand clamped around his wrist, "Salvage laws are _very _strict and I have no time for people who break them."

He let go of the glass and looked up at her in shock, "And quite rightly so! Why only the other day I was saying…"

"Enough, Quark. The woman you did business with is a mercenary - a salvage hunter. Anything she may have sold you is credited under salvage law and illegal." She held out her hand, "Give me the stones."

"But I paid…"

"You know the rules."

He matched her scowl with one of his own, reached into the drawer and unceremoniously slapped five of the stones into her waiting hand.

She looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

With a sigh, he surrendered two more.

Her gaze never faltered and he let out a growl of frustration, "Fine! Take it!" And he all but threw one final stone at her.

Andrews examined them briefly before turning her best Odo-glare on him, "If I find you conducting illegal business on this station again, you will be out of the door so fast your feet won't touch the ground. Understand?"

He snarled at her, showing two rows of sharp little teeth, "Perfectly."

He watched her as she disappeared into the crowded Promenade on her way back to Security.

Then he reached back into the drawer and lined up the four remaining stones on the bar before him with a smile, "You may be good, Ensign Andrews, but you're not _that_ good."

He paused for a thoughtful moment, recalling all the times Odo had double bluffed him, fooled him into thinking he had pulled off some scam or other before yanking the rug out from beneath his feet at the last moment.

And Andrews had studied Odo _closely_.

He returned the stones to the drawer and tapped the intercom, "Quark to Colonel Kladzi."

"Go ahead Quark."

"I'm sorry to bother you, Colonel, I know you must be busy, but I'm afraid I have to lodge a complaint against our new Security Chief. I don't like to use the words police harassment, but…"

After all, it was better to be safe than sorry.

* * *

Odo, it seemed, had been right.

If ever the day was running slow, a quick visit to Quark's would liven it up no end.

And if you managed to catch him in the middle of some business deal or other, all the better.

She didn't doubt for a second that he had kept some of the gemstones for himself, but she only meant to keep him on his toes, not ruin him.

Besides, as Odo had often said, knowing the type of clientele who frequented the Ferengi's bar you never could tell what one of these little visits would turn up.

As the door to the newly repaired Security Office closed behind her, Jill Andrews laid the confiscated stones carefully on her desk and examined them closely, one at a time.

They were beautiful. She didn't pretend to be a geologist of any kind, but knew that she had never seen anything like them before.

The way they caught the light as she turned them in her hand was almost hypnotic, the smoky swirls inside them undulating lazily before her eyes.

A stray thought itched at the back of her mind and she turned to her computer and called up the records on the mercenary from the bar.

They were sketchy at best - smugglers and traders of her line did not freely offer information to the authorities - and Andrews was about to close the file when a footnote caught her eye.

It had been recently added by her opposite number on Bajor and stated that the mercenary had been given an official warning after refusing to leave the scene of the explosion involving the runabout Amazon and the alien ship.

Although it was suspected that she had taken salvage on board, none had been found by the arresting patrol ship and she had been set free.

And now she was here, on Deep Space Nine, doing business with Quark over a set of gemstones…

There was an itch at the back of her mind that refused to go away.

A hunch, Baskell had called it; a sign of a good Security Officer Odo would say.

Just at the moment Andrews wished they would both keep quiet and leave her alone.

This whole business with the exploding ship was getting out of hand. She had to leave it alone - allow the station to heal, to return to normal.

Pointedly pushing the stones aside, she accessed the computer and called up the latest file on wanted criminals.

Three Ferengi, a human and a renegade Vulcan of all people.

Hadn't she seen a Vulcan at one of the back tables in Quark's…the itch dug deep into her skull and she closed the file with a growl.

She would _never_ get any work done until…she hit her communicator, "Andrews to Dax."

There was no reply.

"Computer. Locate Commander Dax."

"Commander Dax is in her quarters."

As Chief of Security, Andrews was well aware of Dax's suspension from duty and had personally locked out all her command codes on Captain Sisko's orders.

If positions had been reversed and it was _she_ who had been banished from Ops she would have resorted to one of two options.

As she hadn't seen Dax drinking herself into unconsciousness in Quarks she reasoned that the Trill had chosen the second option.

Sulking.

Slipping the stones into a security pouch which she attached to her belt she left her office and made for the habitat ring.

* * *

The door chimed three times before breaking through Jadzia's sleeping mind.

With a low groan, she pushed herself up off the sofa and ran a hand across her bleary face, "Come in."

The door swished open and Ensign Andrews stepped in, her face a picture of somewhat annoyed resignation, "Commander…" She stopped with a frown as she took in Dax's somewhat crumpled tear-stained form, "Are you all right?"

Jadzia yawned and stretched with a smile, "What time is it?"

"Just gone 14:00 hours."

She raised an eyebrow in surprise, "I guess I'm fine."

She eyed the now stodgy cold blood pie and raktajino on the table unenthusiastically and crossed to the replicator to order a fresh helping, "Home truths and few hours sleep…" she frowned, "I have to speak to Benjamin."

Andrews coughed, "Um, Commander…"

The smile that was turned on her was genuine, and Dax waved the steaming pie under the Ensign's nose, "Can I get you anything?"

She shook her head hastily as the less than appealing odour assaulted her senses, "Um, no. No thanks…I just…" she pulled the security pouch from her belt.

Her back turned, Dax took a large bite of the pie and washed it down with a mouthful of the bitter coffee, "I should change. I've been in this uniform for ever."

And she disappeared into the bedroom, taking her impromptu meal with her.

Andrews looked down at the pouch in her hand and shook her head.

She didn't claim to know Commander Dax that well, but rumours and stories had reached far across the station - most, she suspected, started by Dax herself - about her wicked sense of humour, her honesty and bravery and her loyalty to friends and colleagues.

Since the loss of the runabout Andrews had watched as the spark of fun faded from her eyes and both friends and colleagues had been brushed aside in pursuit of answers she could not find.

She had taken obsession to new heights at risk of her health and career.

Andrews had felt as though she was betraying the Commander when she locked out her access codes on Sisko's orders.

If she had any kind of scientific mind she would have taken over her never ending vigil at the computer, looking for clues amongst the garble of machine talk.

Clues, if she was completely honest with herself, she was having trouble believing were there.

She wanted the runabout and her crew to have survived as much as anyone else on the station, but she had a warp nacelle sitting in Cargo Bay 3 screaming at her to be realistic.

On the other hand, she had her annoying _hunch_ itching in her brain, begging her not to give up yet - to finish what she had started and to bring her colleagues home.

It had been she and Baskell who had dragged Dax out of mourning and thrown hope at her; she who had dragged that hope away by locking her out of the station's computer system.

Captain Sisko had been right to give the order, right to stand at her shoulder as she carried it out.

Dax and obsession were becoming dangerous bedfellows and he, like the true friend he was, had pulled her toward a safer path.

Experience had taught him when to leave well alone and when to interfere. It was part of the reason they made him Captain.

And now Andrews feared she was about to knock her back onto that path of obsession with one blow.

She crossed to Dax's sofa and perched on the edge, tipping the gemstones into the palm of her hand with a resigned sigh. Perhaps if she left now, Dax wouldn't notice…

"What have you got there?"

She jumped as the Commander came back into the room, her grubby uniform discarded in favour of casual slacks and a form fitting blouse.

One of the stones slipped from her grasp and landed on the carpet with a soft thud.

Dax knelt and scooped it up, holding it up to the light much as Quark had done and whistling softly as its heart swam before her, "Pretty. What are they?"

"I don't know."

The final door of escape closed as Dax's eyes burned with scientific curiosity.

She shot Andrews a sideways look that told her not to try and fool with someone who had been round the block more times than anyone else on the station, "You must have _some_ idea, or you wouldn't have brought them to me."

Jill sighed and tried to take the stone from Dax's hand, "Look, Commander…"

Jadzia closed her fist around the gem and raised an eyebrow, "Ensign..?"

The battle was lost and Andrews braced herself and jumped in with both feet.

If disaster followed she would pick up the pieces later, "They're from the alien vessel that came through the wormhole - I'd stake my life on it."

Jadzia's eyes locked with hers, pain rising to the surface once more.

She bit back the grief and anger that had become far too familiar of late and set her features into an impassive mask, "Where did you get them?"

"Quark bought them from one of the vultures in the bar." She handed the entire pouch to the Trill, "I kind of put two and two together. Probably came up with five, but, well, you never know…"

Dax was studying one stone at a time, mentally comparing them, noting the lack of flaws, the almost fluid-like centre.

Her analytical mind began listing facts and offering up possible explanations for a gem that seven lifetimes worth of hosts had never seen before, "How can you be sure they're from the ship?"

Andrews hesitated, unsure how the other woman would react to the news that the Chief of Security was working largely on a hunch.

She would need facts not theory if this were to lead anywhere, "The trader he bought them from was the only one to get near it before Bajor cordoned off the area. I thought that if we examined them…"

She waved a hand vaguely and Dax looked at her carefully, gauging what she was saying, "Benjamin relieved me of duty."

Andrews wouldn't meet her eyes, "Yes, I know. But he's kind of touchy about the whole subject and I thought…"

"_Jadzia…"_

She stepped closer, ignoring Curzon's warning and placed the pouch of gems back in Jill's hands, "I'll need my access codes reinstated."

She looked up, "Um, I can't do that. Only the Captain has the authority."

"Then how do you expect me to work?"

"I …um…well, I thought…" she flushed with embarrassment at the realisation that she had stumbled at the first hurdle.

She had tipped someone's world into a sea of turmoil _again_ and had no idea where the lifeboats were.

Dax took pity and smiled at her, "We _could_ call on a little help. If we're going to go _looking_ for trouble, we may as well drag the whole gang along."

* * *

Scattering his clothes in an untidy trail across his living quarters' floor, Martin Baskell hit the shower with a low curse.

Tidying up after Jill's little bout of frustration had taken longer than he imagined and he was due in Ops in ten minutes.

He turned in a slow circle as the sonic waves caressed his skin, and gave in to a little inward panic. _Ten _minutes…Sisko would have his hide.

Slapping at the controls, he curtailed the shower, ran naked to the bedroom and fished a fresh uniform out of the wardrobe.

His personal comm channel was beeping by the time he finished dressing and he slid into his chair and hit the desk top receiver, running his fingers through his mussed hair as the screen flickered on.

The woman who appeared before him was roughly his age, with long blonde hair and the bluest of blue eyes.

Her expression was perhaps a little nervous, her eyebrows knitted in a momentary frown, but to him she was beautiful. The most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He swallowed hastily and lowered his hands, hoping his mop-like hair had tidied itself beneath his fingers; and smiled at his wife, "Kate!"

He knew that his smile was infectious, she had often said that that was what she had first fallen in love with.

But this time she offered none in return, "Hello, Martin."

He had promised himself that he would be strong, that he would not beg her to return. He had so many things he wanted to say, "Oh, Kate, it's so good to see you…"

She seemed to be having trouble meeting his eye, "We have to talk."

"I'm almost on duty."

He had said it before he had time to think.

Years of Academy programming sitting deep within himself, reminding him that duty was everything.

His wife was on the screen. He hadn't been able to trace her since she left. None of her friends would tell him anything - and he _knew_ they were hiding her from him - they had been so damned apologetic.

Now she was there, in front of him for the first time in two weeks, asking to speak to him and he had automatically given the answer that had made her leave in the first place.

Her impatient scowl told him that he had said the wrong thing and he slumped back in the chair, "To hell with them. You look great."

The scowl vanished with a sigh and he knew, with a stab of pain, that she would rather not be talking to him.

Slow it down, he told himself, let her speak in her own time. He gazed at her and waited as she gathered her thoughts, "Martin, I'm pregnant."

And everything he had been going to say was knocked sideways from his brain and he found himself gaping at her like an idiot, "…pregnant…?"

"Yes. I found out two days ago."

Shock side-stepped and allowed excitement to squeeze in as a smile creased the corners of his mouth, "Pregnant?"

She studied him carefully, her usually expressive eyes hard as flint, "There's something I need you to do."

A baby..! He was going to have a baby!

They had spoken often about having a family and had agreed to start trying immediately, both wanting to enjoy their children whilst still young themselves.

Kate had often joked about becoming the quadrant's youngest grandmother.

The pain of the last two weeks began to evapourate and his eyes filled with tears of joy.

It no longer mattered that she wasn't at his side, wasn't even in the same _system_. She had made him the happiest man in the world and everything was going to be all right.

"Sure," he choked, " Anything…I'll do anything."

"I need you to sign the adoption forms."

And the world caved in.

"Adoption forms?"

He had misheard. He _must_ have misheard. She wouldn't call all this way just to rip out his heart once more.

If she saw his devastation she gave no hint, just carried on speaking in that clinical, all too distant manner, "John wants to sort things out now rather than later. It saves all sorts of complications with the birth certificate."

"John? Who's John?"

She almost smiled.

Dammit, she almost _smiled_ as she mentally pictured the unknown man he now hated with a passion, "We're living together. We want to get married as soon as the divorce comes through."

"Divorce? But I thought…"

She looked directly at him for the first time, her expression one of puzzled impatience, "What?"

And he broke every one of his own rules and pleaded with her. Leant forward in his seat with his face just inches from the screen and _begged_ her - a drowning man clutching at straws he knew would break, "We can work it out, Kate. It's not too late."

"Martin…"

She had spoken to him in _that_ tone. That mother to son tone. That condescending whine that spoke of eternal disappointment.

Why couldn't he shout at her, scream at her? Why couldn't he get angry? "But it's _my_ baby."

"Please, Martin. Don't make this any harder than it has to be."

"Any harder?" Anger finally sparked in his eyes and he fanned the embryonic flame to life, "You want me to sign away my baby to some…to some _jerk_ I've never even _met_!"

He was shouting at her, fists clenched on the desk where she had a perfect view as he insulted a man he could not even begin to picture.

A man he would cheerfully tear limb from limb should they ever meet.

Her anger, carefully hidden, burst forth to match his own, "John is a decent, loving man who isn't going to uproot us every few years and drag us to some godforsaken hole at the edge of the galaxy!"

"We've been over this…"

"And it obviously hasn't sunk in!"

They glared at each other for a second, going over events in their minds, catching their breath as the last threads of their marriage unravelled before them.

Kate spoke first, her voice barely more than a whisper, "We're through, Martin. Give me back my life!"

She may as well have slapped him - the effect was the same.

He sat and stared at her, his anger draining as she let her gaze drop one more and when he finally spoke, his voice was unsteadily soft, "I've given you your life, Kate. I didn't know I had taken it, but it's yours. Just don't give my child to a stranger….please."

She shook her head and he thought he saw tears, "I'm sorry, Martin."

"Kate…"

She reached out towards him and the screen went blank as she cut him out of her life for good.

He hit the recall button again and again, "Kate! Ah, dammit!"

He let his head fall into his hands and bit his lip, hard, relishing in the pain as the iron taste of blood hit his tongue.

His baby. She was stealing his baby and his confused mind couldn't think of a thing to do to stop her.

He was due in Ops…

_Damn_ Ops! _Damn_ Sisko and Dax and Andrews and the whole bloody lot of them… His comm badge beeped, "Andrews to Baskell."

"_Go to hell!"_ He ripped the badge from his chest and threw it across the room.

"Andrews to Baskell."

He glared at the offending article as it lay beneath his replicator, and drew in a steadying breath. Screaming at his one true friend would get him nowhere.

"Andrews to Baskell. Come on Martin, I know you're there, computers never lie."

She was beginning to sound worried and he felt a pang of guilt and pushed himself away from the desk.

Crossing the room, he sat cross-legged on the floor, picked up the communicator and tapped it, "Go ahead."

"Martin, are you all right?"

_No…_"I'm fine."

She paused and he knew that she had picked up on the quaver in his voice.

She would no doubt just _happen _to be passing that evening and listen to him rant until the small hours, before making things better with some hideously simple piece of advice. Like the good friend that she was, "I have a favour to ask."

He sighed, "This isn't a good time, Jill."

"Well, I kind of guessed that, but this is important."

He clipped the badge back on to the front of his shirt and got to his feet, "I have to get to work, I'm late."

Wiping a hand across his face and smoothing down his hair, he left his quarters as Andrews spoke, "That's okay, we need you to be in Ops if you're going to help us."

"We?"

"Commander Dax needs access to her work files."

He nodded to a young Ensign as they passed in the corridor, lowering his voice to an almost-whisper, "Rumour has it that Commander Dax has been relieved of duty."

"That's where you come in."

As he walked through the habitat ring towards the turbolift, Baskell listened with growing incredulity as Andrews outlined her request.

He was more than capable of doing what she asked - it was a simple matter of accessing and re-directing the relevant files - but if he was caught he would find himself on the blunt end of Captain Sisko's temper as he kicked his backside all the way home to the Academy for retraining, "Sure, Jill, why don't I just hand in my resignation while I'm at it - it would save them actually firing me."

"Martin, you're the only one we can ask. We just need access for a few hours. You can download it all to Dax's private terminal under _my_ access code. If nothing comes from it no-one need ever know. If we find something…"

"Jill, you're asking me to go against Sisko's orders."

Her tone was deadly serious, "I'm asking you to help."

If he _didn't _help…if there was even a _chance_…he and Jill had started this, the least he could do was help her finish.

And if they kicked him out of the service for his troubles he could take out his frustrations on "decent, loving" wife-stealing John.

The 'lift began to slow as it approached Ops, "Give me five minutes."

He could almost hear her grin, "Thanks, Martin."

"Just tell the Commander we're even now."

The 'lift juddered to a halt and he stepped out into the command centre and headed for his station to log on and play dice with his career.

* * *

With a self-satisfied beep, the computer in Dax's quarters began to list file after file of her work pertaining to the alien vessel.

It meant nothing to Andrews, but the Trill Science Officer studied page after page with a refreshed and practiced eye before turning to the young woman with a knowing smile, "Ensign, you are aware that this isn't strictly within the regulations?"

Andrews faltered then shrugged, "I'm Chief of Security. I'll arrest myself later."

Andrews had gone by the time Jadzia looked up again.

She vaguely recalled the Ensign mentioning that duty called as she carried the science lab's mineral scanner into the room and deposited it on the desk next to the computer.

She hoped she had thanked the young woman before burying herself in a full analysis of Quark's gemstones, but she couldn't be sure.

She would have to catch up with her later.

The scanner beeped and she peered into the viewer with a frown.

The analysis of the stones was not going well.

The computer seemed to be having trouble recognising any kind of pattern in its structure. Which had given her the first - the _only_ - clue she had.

The chances were that it had come from the alien vessel. But how had it survived an explosion of such intensity? And what was it _for_?

With a sigh of frustration she realised that, once more, she could do nothing until the computer had finished its analysis.

But, for the first time in days, she had made progress and that progress allowed her to turn away without the need of Curzon and Audrid and their mother hen coaxing and nagging.

She checked the chronometre on the screen. Benjamin should be about ready to take a break by now. They needed to talk, "Dax to Sisko."

The reply was half way cautious, "Go ahead."

She smiled fondly as she pictured her old friend, his brow furrowed as he rolled that baseball from hand to hand and attempted to judge her mood, "I was wondering whether you had time to join me for a drink?"

"I've always got time for you, Old Man. I'll meet you in the replimat."

She allowed herself the luxury of teasing him, "Five minutes, Benjamin. My social schedule is a little crowded. Dax out."

With a final check of the scanner she left her quarters and headed for the Promenade.

* * *

He was waiting for her when she arrived, as she had known he would be; two glasses of synthale on the table before him, one, she guessed, with just a touch of mint. Exactly the way she liked it.

He spotted her instantly and smiled, "Hi."

She slipped into the seat opposite, "Hello, Benjamin."

The synthale was perfect and she drank deeply before leaning back with a satisfied sigh, "I needed that."

He was watching her cautiously, hope and concern fighting for dominance on his face, and she felt a stab of pain as she remembered what she had said to him.

_She_ may have had the benefit of Dax's counsel to shock her to her senses, but she knew that he had spent the day going over and over their exchange in a bid to find out what he had done wrong.

Without knowing that he had done _nothing_ to deserve the accusations she had thrown at him.

She reached out and covered his large brown hand with hers, "Benjamin, I am so sorry."

He smiled fondly at her and squeezed her hand in return, "No-one can ever accuse you of not speaking you mind, Old Man, and I'm sorry that you felt I didn't care."

She winced as she remembered the fury with which she had laid into him; the look of eternal hurt in his fathomless black eyes, "Please. Forgive me. You are one of the most caring men I know and what I said hurt you." She lowered her gaze, "I had no right."

"It's forgotten."

They looked at each other for an awkward moment, each reliving a lifetimes - or two - worth of memories, each at a complete loss for what to say next.

Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Sisko dropped her hand and leant back in his chair with a sigh of what he hoped came out as relief.

His mind searched for common ground that would not raise too many painful memories. Something neutral, something…"Young Andrews seems to be filling some rather large boots quite nicely."

Dax nodded, "I'd say she's coping."

"More than coping. She's just waltzed in here with a security detail, accused a two hundred year old Vulcan of black-marketeering and hauled him off to Security."

He grinned at her as she gaped in astonishment, "I know a certain Constable who would have been extremely proud."

She chuckled and shook her head, "Not that he'd ever admit it."

"Heaven forbid!" The smile this time was one hundred percent genuine as the tension evapourated like so much smoke, "It's good to hear you laugh again. I've missed that."

The smile faded and she took a small sip of her drink, eyes glistening, "I guess I haven't been much fun lately, have I?"

Sisko reached out and took her hand again, unresisting, comfortable, "We've all been worried, Jadzia. But we're your friends, we're here for you."

She looked up at him and blinked away the tears, knowing - _hoping_ - that everything was going to be all right.

That she wasn't going to step over the line and drive his friendship so far away that no amount of reminiscing would coax it back, "I'll be fine, now, Benjamin. But, thank you."

As if on cue, her comm badge beeped and the computer's sterile voice announced, "Task complete."

Sisko paused, his glass half way to his lips, and gave her a quizzical look, "What was that about?"

She looked at him and turned away, "Life going on. I'll see you later."

Sisko watched her go and wondered whether things were really settled.

* * *

The Vulcan had surrendered without a fight, his eyebrows arched in almost human amusement as Andrews listed the charges against him and led him from Quark's to the holding cells.

She wished all criminals would accept their fate as calmly.

She also wished that there wasn't so much damned paperwork involved.

If these people were going to turn to crime, why couldn't they do it on their home planets?

She was deep in concentration over a padd of Vulcan law and didn't look up when the doors hissed open, "I'll be with you in a minute."

"I would appreciate your attention _now_,Ensign Andrews."

She looked up at Colonel Kladzi as he walked up to her desk, his newly acquired red uniform looking wrong on a man of his build, face bedecked in its usual haughty sneer.

For the new first officer, she thought, he seems reluctant to spend any time in Ops.

She didn't bother with a smile that she knew would be neither acknowledged nor returned, and turned her attention back to the data padd, "How can I help you, Colonel?"

He placed both hands on the desk and leant forward, glaring at her over the top of the padd, "You can concentrate on your job and stop harassing the station's personnel."

It had been, perhaps, the last thing she expected him to say and she looked up at him in confusion, "What are you talking about?"

"I have received a complaint concerning your conduct."

"From who?"

He straightened, satisfied that he now had her full attention, the know-it-all sneer returning, "You don't need to know that. All you need to know is that the complaint has been made and if I receive any more I will bring the Captain in on this. And he, no doubt, will reconsider the wisdom in letting a junior officer fill a position that is obviously too large for her."

Andrews leapt to her feet, the padd slamming now on the desk, her eyes sparking in fury, "How dare you!"

For months she had fought to overcome her mind's insistence that there was always _some-one_ better suited to do her job than she.

For months Odo had encouraged her, nurtured her raw talent, taught her to have confidence in herself.

He had put it on _record_ that it was _she _who should be considered as his replacement should he be lost, and now this…this…_man_ had the gall to tell her she was out of her depth?

She felt her fists clench as she pushed her face closer to his in an open challenge, "You arrogant, jumped up son of a…"

"As you were, Ensign!"

The smirk was still there as he watched her battle for self control and she guessed that a part of him was itching for her to step over the line into open insubordination.

She did not give him the pleasure and he glared at her, "The situation has been explained to you and I expect you to stay within your bounds in future."

And he walked out of her office as if he owned the entire station.

Jill sat for a while in stunned contemplation of what had just happened.

She had no doubt that Kladzi objected to her both personally and professionally, but the man would not have been made first officer of a station of DS9's importance if he didn't know his job.

He had better things to do than spend his life picking on _her_. Especially when they were both meant to be on the same side.

Who could have gone to him and given him reason to seek her out? It had been a quiet day as days went. That was why she had indulged herself in a little Quark baiting…

Quark…

She closed down the files she was working on and left the office, a picture in calm serenity as she focused on the gaudy lights and sounds of the Ferengi bar.

A hand caught her arm and she spun round to find herself face to face with an earnest looking Dax, "Ensign. I need you to authorise your codes for the scanner results."

Andrews shook her head, "Can it wait, Commander, I have to kill Quark."

Dax tugged on her arm and led her to the turbolift, "You can do that later - I'll lend you a phaser."

* * *

Unaware that his life had just been temporarily snatched back from the abyss, Quark watched the two women go with his usual lecherous leer and returned to polishing the last of his green gems.

The first of the buyers should be arriving soon and his lobes were feeling _extremely_ tingly of late.

* * *

The scanner was bleeping gently to itself by the time Dax and Andrews arrived, the latter still fuming over Quark and Kladzi's apparent victimisation.

She keyed in her access code somewhat abruptly, allowing Dax to run a quick check of the results, comparing and contrasting them with her own theories.

A wave of disappointment began to break over the Trill as she failed to turn up anything significant and she had began to turn away with a sigh, when one reading caught her eye.

Andrews stood at her shoulder, "Well?"

Dax had her face pressed firmly against the eye piece as she studied the gemstone closely, "It's an unknown mineral substance."

Jill snorted, "We needed to go behind Sisko's back to find out _that_?"

Dax crossed to her computer and began to key in a long sequence of numbers, a smile threatening to burst from her lips, "No. But we did need to do so to find out this."

The screen flickered to life and Andrews could make out the all too fuzzy images of the last moments of the runabout and the alien vessel.

Dax allowed it to run through to its painful conclusion, the screen a fuzz of unprocessed data and looked up at the Ensign.

Jill scowled, "It still looks like a junkyard. What does that tell us?"

Dax keyed in another number sequence, "Nothing. That was the raw transmission. The computer has made very little headway. It's still trying to read data for which it has no basis of comparison. But _I_ recognised _this.._"

She hit the send button and the screen flickered and jolted and gave up what looked like the blue print for a molecule - a many linked, highly complex molecule of which Andrews didn't even want to _begin _to guess the name.

She gaped at the Trill, "You _recognised_ this?"

"Well, sort of. A partial segment of one of the chains was one of the unknown variants the computer has been having trouble with. " She caught Andrews' unbelieving expression and smiled, "It was very distinctive."

"If you say so, Commander. So what do we do now?"

She shrugged as if it was obvious, "We give the computer the information and see what happens."

Her fingers darted across the panel and the screen cleared for a fraction of a second before the images began to run again, "Here goes."

They watched in almost respectful silence as the runabout spiralled towards the alien ship, the temperature readings rising far too fast.

The explosion ripped across the screen with frightening intensity and cleared just as quickly. In those few seconds of hell, the runabout vanished.

And Dax was on her feet, eyes wide, "Look at the readings!"

Startled by the usually serene Commander's sudden outburst, Andrews took a hurried step back, before leaning forward with a frown, "Um…temperature was very high but returned to normal, that new molecule of yours was everywhere…the neutrino levels went of the scale for a second…the…" she grinned as she realised what she had said, "The neutrino levels? The wormhole opened?"

Dax nodded eagerly, "For point nine eight five of a second."

"Then why didn't we see it?"

"Too quick. Too much interference. The computer was confused by the data, poor thing."

Fingers flew across the panel once more and the image back-tracked before starting up again one frame at a time.

Andrews watched the screen carefully as Dax worked frantically to eliminated the unwanted variables leading up to explosion.

The alien vessel began to tear itself to pieces in extreme slow motion and Jill's hand flew to her mouth, "Oh, my God!"

Dax looked up at her and then at the screen.

The wormhole was opening, petals undulating like an orchid in a breeze.

And deep inside it, almost out of sight, was a _second_ opening - a reflection, a virtually exact copy of the Celestial Temple.

As they watched, wide eyed, the alien ship gave an almost animal-like lurch towards the new wormhole, tugging the runabout along in its wake, the smaller vessel spinning wildly in an erratic orbit of its captor.

The explosion blotted out the rest of the image and there was nothing Dax could do to clear it.

The sequence ended and the computer deactivated with a quiet beep.

The silence that followed was broken by Andrews' harsh whisper, "I think we should talk to the Captain."

* * *

Martin Baskell was tapping idly at his console when the turbolift deposited an excited Commander Dax and a wide-eyed Jill Andrews into Ops.

He watched with a frown as the Trill took the steps to Sisko's office two at a time, clutching a data padd, and let herself in without so much as a by-you-leave.

Andrews made to follow, but he grasped her arm as she went past, "Jill, what's happened?"

She grinned at him, "I think we found them."

He raised his eyebrows, "You're kidding?"

"I'm not!"

A furious shout from the Captain's office snapped all heads back to their consoles, "You did _what_!" and Jill swallowed nervously as Sisko marched to the top of the stairs and glared down at them, "Andrews! Baskell! My office. Now!"

Dax was at rigid attention before the Captain's desk and she flashed them a look of abject apology as they entered and stood beside her, eyes focused straight ahead as the door hissed shut behind them.

Sisko stormed round to the front of his desk and glared fire at each of them in turn, before ignoring Dax and turning his ire on the junior officers, "I take it you were both fully aware that I had _personally_ relieved Commander Dax of duty?"

They didn't look at each other, the response coming automatically, loud and clear, "Yes, sir."

He stepped back round the desk and stood virtually nose to nose with Baskell before moving on to Andrews, "And yet you went behind my back to undermine mywishes."

The reply this time was hesitant, a little guilty, "…yes, sir…"

"Knowing full well what this is going to do to your careers."

They looked at each other for a brief second and swallowed nervously. Things were not going to plan.

Andrews cleared her throat, almost backing down as he turned that inferno stare on her, "Um…we felt that the cause justified our actions, sir. There were a lot of…well, questions that _had_ to be answered."

He looked at her, "We do have more than one science officer on the station."

She frowned, "Yes, sir, but Commander Dax…"

"Don't you think I relieved Commander Dax of duty for a perfectly good _reason_?"

She looked at her feet, feeling like a first year cadet, an embarrassed flush colouring her cheeks.

Not waiting for a reply, Sisko stepped back, raising his hands in frustration, "Does no-one on this station know how to obey orders any more?"

For the first time since they had entered the room, Dax spoke, one eyebrow raised, "Captain, they didn't exactly disobey your orders. You never told them _not_ to help me."

He looked pointedly at her and she had the good grace to return to full attention, "You are splitting hairs, Commander."

With a growl of impatience he turned his back on them and glared his remaining anger out of the window at the stars, "Consider yourselves on report. All of you."

Three sets of eyes snapped back into formation as three backs stood ramrod straight, "Yes, sir!"

Andrews watched in trepidation as Sisko stared out of the window, allowing his breathing to steady and his anger to fade.

She had a suspicion that he was a little hurt at being left out of things.

At last he turned back to them, his expression normal, "Now, show me what you found."

* * *

Sisko reached out and turned off the computer screen with a low whistle, "A second wormhole? One within the other? Why have we never come across this before?"

Dax shrugged, "Because it's not stable." She handed him the data padd, "As far as I can make out from these readings, it's a door. One that can be opened and closed at will."

"If you have the key?"

She nodded, "Exactly."

He knocked his baseball from its stand, caught it as it rolled off the desk and began to nudge it from hand to hand as he considered the situation.

Excitement was building up inside him as he allowed himself to believe - to _truly_ believe - that he may get his officers - his friends - back after all, "Could our runabout have been blown through this door?"

"It's possible."

He watched her closely, "Could they have survived?"

She considered this for a moment and he could see her waging an inner war between science and need. It was with a drop of the head that she finally admitted, "I don't know."

It was the answer he had wanted to hear.

Dax had hauled herself from the path of self delusion and was finally being truthful with him.

He replaced the baseball on its stand, "Do we have the key?"

Andrews pulled the pouch of stones from her belt and handed them over, "Courtesy of Quark."

Sisko examined them closely, not really sure what he was looking at, before arching a quizzical eyebrow at Dax.

She sighed, "It's possible. We just don't know where the keyhole is."

Before he could say another word, the lights in Ops blurred and settled as the shields snapped on and the station flipped over to red alert.

He was out of the door in a second, Dax, Andrews and Baskell in tow, "Report!"

The lieutenant at con didn't look up, his face creased in a frown as he studied his console, "Neutrino levels rising, sir. Nothing's due 'til tomorrow."

"On screen."

The screen guttered and fuzzed as heavy interference spoiled the picture.

The lieutenant looked up in flustered confusion, "Captain. I'm picking up some odd readings…"

Andrews and Baskell had their eyes glued to the viewer and were the first to see the wormhole finally open and eject its intruder.

The ship that came through brought an awed hush to Ops. Baskell gasped, "Oh, my God! Look at the size of that thing."

It was huge. Half the size of the station itself, Sisko mused. And the station was _big_.

It was sleek, gunmetal grey, curved to precision, its mile long tendrils reaching back towards the wormhole as it closed in on itself with a flash.

It looks like our alien friend wasn't an only child, Sisko mused. Big Brother has arrived.

Dax had commandeered her station from a nervous young Bajoran and was studying the screen before her, telling them what they had already guessed, "It's the same design as the last ship. Same readings - everything."

They watched in anticipatory silence as the ship edged towards them and was still.

Sisko was first to speak, his voice calm as he gave his orders, "We'll take it slow, people."

He turned to Martin, "Mr. Baskell, get me a line to Starfleet and Bajor."

Martin jumped as he dragged his gaze from the screen, "Aye, sir."

"We can play the waiting game a little longer. They don't seem to be in a great hurry to leave."

Moments later, the communications board buzzed and Baskell called out, "Sir, Admiral James and First Minister Shakaar are on hold…"

"Put them on split screen, Ensign."

His hands were shaking and he gritted his teeth in an effort to control himself, "Yes, sir."

He looked down at his console and almost jumped back in shock as a tiny red light blinked on and off insistently, "Sir! The alien ship - it's hailing us."

* * *

Once again, many thanks to those of you who have mailed me with your comments. Advice and abuse can still be sent!

Chapter Eight may be a while due to broken fingers and a complete inability to type at a decent speed.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

As much as he would hate to admit it, Odo was a child of technology. Although perfectly capable of surviving in the bleakest of conditions, he felt safer, more confident, when he had access to computers, tricorders…runabouts…torches.

He remembered his 'childhood' and his first excursion from Dr Mora's execrable laboratory and its plethora of intrusive instruments.

Mora had agreed to show him the Bajoran countryside as a treat for some humiliating documented success or other and Odo had been insanely pleased to be free.

He had gazed around him in wonder, barely noticing the savage rents in the hillside left over from the latest mining travesty; or the sunken, frightened eyes of Bajoran children as they watched him pass before cowering from the forbidding glare of the Cardassian guards who had been committing slow-motion genocide for over a generation.

He saw an eternal blue sky with powdery wisps of cloud that held no threat of rain. He saw mile upon mile of open land rolling off into the distance beckoning, enticing, urging him to explore.

Mora had handed him a back pack and he had shrugged it on with an all too familiar obedience, before setting off after the doctor with long, easy strides, the guards following like silent shadows.

They had camped that night deep in the forest, bathed in the glow of a portable light generator, and he had watched in curiosity as one of the Cardassians trapped a squealing Palaku and gutted it as it wriggled on the end of his knife, legs thrashing wildly.

That was the first death he had witnessed and he did not care for it in the least; and, in his first act of disobedience, he had point blank refused to accept the man's proffered knife as another of the small creatures scuttled across the campsite and away to safety.

The Cardassians had laughed openly at him for the rest of the evening, until Mora, in a rare act of mercy, had suggested that they turn out the light and get some sleep. One of the men deactivated the generator and a new wonder opened itself to Odo's eyes.

The night was so _bright_. Even this deep in the forest there were lights everywhere. The clouds had dissolved as night crept in and the stars were brilliant. One of the moons was full and white and he could make out small flying craft as they hugged the sky and silhouetted themselves across its surface.

In the distance he could see the vast mosaic of tiny pinpoint lights that made up the city and every now and then a low flying skimmer would flood the land with its search light as it worked to root out any Resistance fighters who may be in the area.

One by one, Mora and the guards dropped off to sleep leaving Odo to lay back on his blanket and wonder what _true_ darkness looked like.

And now he knew.

He could tell that the track beneath him was firm, worn smooth by centuries of passing feet and he could tell that the night had turned cold, the wind biting into his changeling flesh. But that was all.

With heavy cloud cover and no sign of artificial lighting, the darkness was absolute.

For an hour he picked his way carefully along the dirt road, feeling his toes scuff against pebbles and occasionally stumbling from the track all together.

After one particular tumble down a short incline, he muttered an old Bajoran curse and wished for a torch. When he fell again, he gave up his shape and morphed into the innocuous form of a rodent - his fur short and coarse from the tip of his long nose to the base of his stringy tail, his black eyes large and bright and all seeing in the darkness, his tiny feet scurrying impatiently as they scratched their way along the edge of the track.

He made good time and thanked the Prophets for keeping him safe from roaming predators and dagger eyed birds of prey, then rounded a bend in the road and found what he was looking for.

Caspii lay before him, an ominous shadow against the hillside, flickers of torch light illuminating the tops of the steep stone walls.

He scuttered a little closer until his sharp rodent eyes could make out the huge double gates, the obvious way in.

A number of small fires were flickering outside the gates as the men on sentry duty huddled round them in an attempt to keep warm, their breath steaming over the flames as they blew on their numbing fingers. They were all carrying the simplest of weapons and Odo knew that he could probably disarm them with little effort.

What was inside the walls of the prison remained a mystery, though, so with a rippling of substance he spread newly formed wings and took to the sky.

He flew over the walls of the prison and began to wheel slowly in the air, memorizing the site below him.

There was one building, large and forbidding. It looked grey in the torch light, its walls rising in jagged turrets, each stone jutting and crude. It seemed to be cut into the actual hillside, almost buried, as if the structure had been built first and the land had grown around it over the years. Beyond it lay an impressive amphitheatre set deep in the ground, it's centre ringed by what looked like large wooden hutches. Probably used to house some animal or other, he mused.

The place was all but deserted, the only signs of life being the guards at the gates and an occasional sentry who patrolled the grounds, torch in one hand, sword in the other as he rattled the doors to the main building to check they were secure.

Odo circled again and headed back to the main gates. Just inside them was a large dust courtyard. He swooped low, looking for a place to hide, to gather his thoughts and plan his next move. He flew silently across the courtyard, wings all but touching the ground, keen eyes darting to and fro in search of danger.

The gallows loomed up out of the darkness.

With a startled thrashing of wings he gave a cry of shock and took to the air once more.

He _knew_ that that Detrius character had said they were going to execute her, but had managed to keep it to the back of his mind. Had subconsciously reasoned with childish logic that if he didn't think about it, perhaps it wouldn't be true. It was an old trick, a legacy left over from long painful days in Mora's laboratory before he had learned to make himself understood.

It hadn't worked then, either.

He shook his head as if to clear it - he had to concentrate.

He knew nothing of this prison and its inhabitants aside from superstitious mumblings that it was impregnable and inescapable. He had seen perhaps ten guards on the outside, which suggested over confidence, but had no idea how many were on the inside.

He circled back and skirted the gallows once more.

It was sturdy in the extreme, with a raised floor some six feet off the ground which was obviously designed to drop away from the doomed person and either choke the life out of them or snap their neck. He had seen the Cardassians use something similar on captured Resistance fighters when ammunition was running short.

It was not a pleasant way to die.

Anger boiled up within him as the memories distorted and Kira's dead eyes stared back at him accusingly as her twisted neck began to discolour beneath the unyielding noose.

Trying to outrun his own imagination, he soared upward on strong wings, across the wall and back towards the wilderness, his cry of rage echoing across the night sky, spooking the superstitious guards into murmured prayers and frightened glances.

Odo didn't care. Somehow it seemed appropriate.

* * *

The melancholy call of a Bajoran moon owl filtered into her disturbed dreams with its keening lament and Kira Nerys snapped awake with a cry.

With the night had come the cold and the enticing oblivion of beckoning sleep. And dreams of home.

She listened for the owl again, but no cry came and she knew it must have all been in her head.

Pushing herself to her feet, she began pacing her cell, arms crossed over her chest, hugging her sides in a vain attempt to keep warm; her breath floating before her in mocking spirals as the ever present ache of bruises forced short gasps from her almost blue lips.

As time passed, her steps becoming more and more sluggish as fatigue set in, the monotony broken only by the mocking laughter of her guard as he periodically glanced through the grill of the door to check up on her.

If her unknown friend from the outside world was going to do anything, she hoped it would be soon. She had been pacing forever, or so it seemed, and she desperately needed to sleep.

It would be morning soon.

Her tired feet stumbled and she fell against the wall, pushing herself up, determined to stay awake even as her fatigue wracked body betrayed her.

The cold ate into her aching limbs and she sank back against the wall, her strength ebbing in waves.

She tried once more to call on all the old tricks from the Cardassian occupation, remembering the songs Lupaza had crooned to her that first night in the cells.

She had tried her hardest to live up to the heroic image of the Shakaar; the stories the older children had told when the adults weren't listening, but the reality was painfully different. After six hours alone in the dark, with only the equally frightened Lupaza as company, her age and lack of experience had began to show and she had shamed herself by crying, sobbing like a baby.

She had hated herself then as her friend's arms wrapped around her. She was fourteen years old, for Prophet's sake, she should _not_ be crying in the dark like this. As she berated herself through muffled sobs, Lupaza had sighed heavily and began to sing, a half whispered lullaby that had finally sent her into an uneasy sleep, the melody caressing her fears.

She tried to sing it now, quietly, a reassurance that help would come soon, but the cold had taken her voice as well as her strength and she couldn't form the words.

Drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around her legs, she licked her lips and tried again, humming the song as it dropped in and out of her sluggish mind. It was tuneless and broke up on every other note, but it was a lifeline to grip onto as it echoed round the cell.

A voice hissed through the half light, cutting across the somewhat quivering melody, "Deviant""

Kira scrabbled to her feet and edged up to the door, her voice shaking as she gripped the iron grill and squinted through the gloom at the woman on the other side, "I thought you'd never come," she whispered.

"I had to wait."

She tried to peer along the passage, "Where's the guard?"

The woman nodded back up the corridor, her face grim, "Sleeping, finally. He was extra vigilant tonight, you must be important."

A snort, "It would seem so."

For a moment the woman ducked out of sight and Kira could hear the rustle of fabric, then something was pushed through the grill towards her, "Here."

It was a cloth bundle and she unwrapped it quickly, half frozen fingers clumsy in her haste. Nestled in the folds was a stubby, short handled dagger, its blade jagged and stained. Kira weighed it in her palm and looked up, her brow furrowed, "What..?"

"They'll tie your hands before they take you out. They won't be expecting much resistance after that."

"Not surprising."

She gestured through the grill, eager to get this exchange over with before the guard should wake, "Hide it in your sleeve."

Kira looked up at her in confusion, "Is that it?"

She didn't know why, but she had been expecting something more, _hoping_ for something more. A jail break, a key, a sympathetic guard who was willing to go to the wall for a prisoner he couldn't bear to watch executed.

Even though she knew from experience that these things never happened outside of story books her disappointment must have shown because the woman on the other side of the door gave a snort of laughter, "This is a prison. What did you expect?"

Kira nodded, "I'm sorry. I just want to get out of here."

The smile was kind and the blue eyes reflected hope as they met Kira's brown ones.

She reached through the grill and squeezed the Bajoran's hand, "We all do. It's up to you now. Just be ready to run."

She let her hand clasp the other's a little longer, grateful for a moment to be near some-one who did not want to hurt her, "Thank you."

Outside the door, the guard mumbled in his sleep and the woman pulled away from Kira, "I have to go."

Her running footsteps echoed down the corridor and were gone.

Alone once more, Kira sank to her knees next to the door and examined her new possessions.

Though stubby and old, the knife was sharp and she had no doubt that it would be able to slice through any bindings as long as she could manoeuvre it safely.

She flipped it over so that the blade was laying along the length of her wrist as she held the handle in place.

With her free hand, she picked up the strip of fabric and began to wind it snugly around her arm, hugging the blade to the flesh.

With the knife secure, she tugged the cloth higher up her arm, dragging the blade with it until it was tied just below her elbow. Clasping her hands before her in mimicry of what was to come, she gave a shrug of the shoulder and a shake of the arm.

The blade came loose, as she had hoped, and slipped down her tunic sleeve towards her waiting hand. Her cold fingers, though, fumbled the catch and the dagger thumped heavily to the floor.

The sound seemed to echo across the night and she frantically snatched it up and watched the door with wide eyes in case the idle guard should be roused from his sleep.

No-one came.

Kira practised again and again, tying and retying the blade to her arm as she clasped her hands in front and back until she caught it cleanly every time it fell.

The need for sleep had been eating into her harder and harder and she finally submitted. With the knife once more secure on her arm, she curled up behind the heavy wooden door and let the cold chase her into dreams.

* * *

Jhemor was crying in his sleep again; a soft whimpering sound, like an animal in distress.

His blanket had long ago slipped to the floor and he was shivering convulsively, arms and legs hugged tight in a foetal ball.

For the third time that night, O'Brien slipped from his uncomfortable bed, retrieved the blanket and tucked the boy up in its rough folds. And for the third time that night he returned to his uncomfortable bed and laid on his back staring up out of the window at the starless sky, unable to sleep.

Presently Jhemor stirred again, calling to some nameless person he probably didn't even remember before snapping awake with a cry.

He sat up on the bed, pulling the thin blanket around his skinny shoulders, his eyes huge in the darkness.

With the instincts of a natural father, O'Brien pulled his own blanket from the bed and crossed to the boy's side; sitting close to him, "Are you all right, son?"

Jhemor pulled the blanket tighter and sniffed wetly, trying his hardest not to cry, "I'm scared, Mr 'Brien."

With a heavy sigh he laid an arm across his shoulders, "What are you scared of?"

For a moment the boy didn't speak as hideous distorted images of everything he could conceivably fear ran through his mind.

He had lived his whole life within the walls of Caspii, raised by prisoners long gone to fates he relived through nightmares.

That he was still alive was something of a miracle in this place where miracles had lost their charm and there were so many memories eating at his soul that it was little wonder he was not completely sane.

Years of abuse and terror welled up inside him and he wished more than anything that he had the words to express them to his first real friend.

He could taste the words, see them in his head as they taunted him, just out of reach and he turned brimming eyes to the man at his side, willing him to understand, his voice a harsh whisper, "Marius is a _bad _man…"

O'Brien nodded and squeezed his shoulders, "He is at that."

For a long while there was silence and O'Brien wondered whether Jhemor had dropped back into sleep.

He looked down at the tousled ginger head and gave his shoulders a reassuring squeeze. He could understand the lad being afraid and admired him for the way he bore it. Although he wore his fear like a jacket, there for all to see, he kept his panic in check. He knew when to be still and when to run and O'Brien was relying on him not to forget.

If they were going to succeed in the morning, he needed to know that the boy would be able to put self preservation before any new-found attachments he may have formed and get himself away from Caspii as fast as his legs would run.

He would never forgive himself if anything happened to him.

Starfleet warned against forming this kind of bond. Cadets were required to sit a course on the subject and up until now, O'Brien had managed to pass his career with the minimal of emotional fuss.

He had sat in interminable lectures listening to ageing Admirals warn about the risks involved when thinking with your heart and not your head. He had even agreed with them when they stated that the Prime Directive was too vital a concept to risk for the sake of a few tears and lost friendships.

But they weren't here now. They weren't looking down at a sleeping boy who understood little of what was happening to him, who was relying souly on _them_ to see him through the trials to come.

If the Prime Directive dictated that he, as a member of Starfleet, should not get involved, then the Prime Directive wasn't seeing the big picture.

He shifted his position ever so slightly as pins and needles began to tingle along his arm, and Jhemor's quiet voice piped up, "Are we going to run away?"

Miles smiled to himself at the boy's simple summing up of what was to happen, "Yes, we are."

"Is the Major lady coming with us?"

Well, that was the question. Katalia had not seemed overly concerned whether Kira lived or died, seeing the execution only as a diversion to aid her own plans.

Although he knew that _he _would make her rescue his first priority, what would happen to her if he should fail, if he could not reach her in time.

He would be alone on this world with no means of getting home. If he had any idea where he actually _was,_ things might have been different. But with no Odo and no Kira and Jhemor in tow - and with the runabout all but useless - things were not looking good.

He looked down at Jhemor with what he hoped was a reassuring smile, "I hope so, son"

The small face was creased in a frown, "How? Marius will tie her up so she can't run away. He _always_ ties people up so they can't run away…he's a _bad_ man."

O'Brien pushed him away to allow himself a full view of his earnest blue eyes, determined to take at least one worry away from him, "Don't you worry about it. There're lots of people out there with lots of ideas. We'll get her out."

But Jhemor wouldn't drop the point, his brain trying hard to piece together a picture of what was to come, a route plan in his head where all the roads were clear, "What people?"

"Lots of people."

"oh…"

"Why don't you try and get some sleep?"

Jhemor shook his head, "It's morning now, I can see the sun, yes I can."

He was right. The weak yellow sun was filtering through the clouds, bathing the cell in its pale light. The first birds were singing in the distance and in the corridor outside he could hear voices and the slamming of doors.

O'Brien scrambled off of the bed and peeked through the grill on the door, then turned back to his young charge, "Listen, Jhemor. Whatever happens today, I want you to stay close to me. If I run, you run. If I hide, you hide. Do you understand?"

A nod, "Yes, Mr 'Brien."

"And if anything should happen to me…"

The blue eyes were huge again as he shook his head rapidly, refusing to listen, "nonono, nothing will happen."

O'Brien took him by the shoulders and shook him sharply, locking his gaze with the boy's frightened eyes, "_If anything should happen to me_, I want you to stick by Major Kira or Katalia…"

Jhemor's face crumpled and his voice was almost a wail, "But I don't _like_ 'Talia, she gets cross a lot."

"That's because she's scared, too."

He frowned. That thought had obviously never occurred to him and he was having trouble equating the awesome Katalia with what he knew to be fear, "She is?"

O'Brien pounced on the questioning tone and embroidered the facts, "Sure she is. She wants to cry as much as you do, but she's afraid people will think she's weak This is a scary place to be in, you know."

As if to reinforce the Irishman's point, a rough voice shouted just outside their door, threatening some poor soul who was slow to move when told and emphasising with a flying fist on flesh.

Jhemor swallowed and cowered, his skinny face pleading with O'Brien, "I suppose…but you'll try and not have anything happen to you, won't you, Mr 'Brien?"

"I'll try, Jhemor."

The door opened before the boy could respond and one of Marius's henchmen glared in at them, baton at the ready, "Out."

Without a word, they shuffled past the guard and followed the other inmates down the passages of the prison and out into the morning sunshine.

The shadow of the gallows greeted them as it dominated the courtyard and O'Brien felt Jhemor's small hand slip into his as the boy sought comfort against his growing fear. He gave the hand a squeeze, but did not say a word.

One by one, every prisoner in Caspii filed out of the prison building and stood before the ominous structure. Waiting.

He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and turned to see Katalia standing behind him, her dark eyes set, her mouth a grim line of determination.

With a nod, he turned away. The doors opened with a bang and they lapsed into a silence so deep it was almost painful as four figures began the long walk across the courtyard.

Marius led the way, his stride confident, arrogant, his unpleasant face set in a half smirk.

Behind him came two of the guards, swords drawn and gripped firmly in one hand as they led Kira towards the gallows, her hands were bound before her.

No-one spoke. Even the air was still.

O'Brien had never attended an execution before, but had spent much of the last long night wondering what it would bring, allowing his imagination to conjure up image after image, none of which matched the scene before him.

There should have been _noise_. There should have been the monotonous beating of a drum or the melancholy wail of a trumpet. _Something_ to let the world know that one of it's charges was passing.

Instead, there was a silence broken only by the tread of footsteps. Of Marius and the guards' slow march and the scuffing stumble as Kira limped between them.

He studied her closely as she passed, anger gripping at his chest as he saw the new bruises, the reason behind Marius' smirk and tried to catch her eye, to offer comfort where there was none to be had; but her thoughts were focused on some far away point on the horizon and he doubted that she saw him.

The little procession came to a halt at the foot of the gallows, Marius stepping back to allow his guards access with their prisoner.

Kira stood between the two men and slowly looked up at the structure before her.

Three large steps led up to a raised platform upon which was set the towering cross beam, a length of rope running up its length and hanging down in a noose.

The platform itself was designed to drop away when the catch at its centre was sprung with a tug of a lever. She let her eyes linger on the noose and swallowed nervously, feeling very small, clenching her bound hands together as if to steady herself.

The other prisoners were assembled around her, circling the gallows like an unwilling honour guard and she found herself searching for O'Brien, desperate for at least one friendly face to latch on to as she fought to keep her fear at bay.

But she couldn't see him. She had heard nothing of him since the Arena and paranoia began to whisper to her that he had been made to pay for her crimes.

She tried to turn, hoping to catch a glimpse of him amongst the group behind her, but the guards gripped tight on her arm and tried to force her up the steps.

O'Brien watched as Kira's head turned to and fro, scanning the faces before her in suppressed panic.

Her hands were clenched tight together, the knuckles whitening as nails dug in to her flesh, and she tried to turn away from the gallows.

The guards, of course, were quick to stop her, their grip on her arms far too tight and he heard her cry out, not in pain but in frustration, as she struggled to spin away from them.

She had not seen him as she passed, he was sure of that now, and it was suddenly important that she knew he was there. That they saw each other one last time, just in case.

He took a step forward, feeling Katalia's hand on his shoulder as he did so, and raised his voice for all to hear, "Major!"

She turned at his cry, the guards momentarily distracted by the unexpected interference, and he smiled at her, the broad Irish smile that had defused so many arguments when she had been living with his family and carrying his son.

She returned the smile, relief shining through in her doe brown eyes, and gave a seemingly innocuous little shrug before allowing herself to be turned away by the guards as Marius approached O'Brien and pushed him back into line with a snarl, "Very touching. Shame she won't be here to do the same for you."

The temptation to fly at the man and wipe the smirk from his face once and for all was immense, but Katalia's steady hand and Jhemor's sharp intake of breath kept him in line, fists clenched at his side as he waited.

Marius stepped back to the base of the platform and waved an impatient hand at the guards, "Take her up."

They gave Kira a tug and she stumbled against the first step, her bound hands twisting before her, straining at her bonds as they dragged her up to the platform.

There was silence as they turned her round and slipped the noose round her neck.

O'Brien shifted nervously, his hands sweating as Marius took the steps one at a time and approached the lever that would send Kira to her death.

This was running too close for his liking. Katalia's voice hissed in his ear, "Wait…"

On the platform, Kira raised her head skywards and squeezed her eyes tight shut, her hands fumbling frantically as if trying in vain to snap the ropes that held her.

Marius reached for the lever and Katalia pushed O'Brien forward with a blood curdling howl.

As one body, the battered, frightened inmates of Caspii surged forward to exact their revenge on their oppressors and claim their freedom.

Kira's eyes snapped open as a cacophony of raised voices rent the once still air and the courtyard erupted into chaos.

All around her, the prisoners were rioting, racing towards the platform, the guards, the gates, eyes alight with the fire of determination.

And she could see O'Brien at the front, Jhemor close behind, his childlike face a mixture of terror and panic as they ploughed towards her.

The doors to the prison building were flying open, spilling more guards into the compound, swords raised to hack at defenceless flesh, and Kira renewed her efforts at her bonds.

The stubby dagger was slick with her sweat and she had almost dropped it on more than one occasion. She thanked the Prophets that Marius and his cronies had put her twitching and fumbling down to nerves. They would regret their mistake.

The two guards had jumped from the platform and thrown themselves into the melee with the passion of men who had grown far too used to hitting people and only Marius remained.

His back was turned as he gaped on the scene before him with new found fear.

That the prisoners may one day be pushed too far had never occurred to him and he was fighting an inner battle against the urge to flee his post. Below him, a full bodied punch from O'Brien knocked one of the guards back against the gallows with enough force to send teeth flying and rock the entire structure.

Marius took an unconscious step backwards and gave a shout of pain as one of Kira's feet connected with the base of his spine.

He spun round to face her. She was still struggling with her bonds and he saw for the first time the dagger she was no longer making any efforts to conceal.

She kicked out at him again, furious that hunger and abuse had left her so weak. The first blow should have been enough to pitch him from the platform into the waiting embrace of the crowd below.

Seeing his world falling apart around him, and knowing full well where the Merchants would place the blame, Marius turned away from her, intent on completing one last duty.

And as the bonds confining Kira's hands finally snapped loose, he pulled the lever and the floor dropped away.

With a final tug and a scream of frustration and pain as the rope tore through the skin on her wrists, Kira managed to snap her bindings and free her hands.

Before she could draw breath, though, the floor dropped away, there was an all too brief moment of freefall and the noose around her neck snapped tight, choking off the scream as soon as it left her lips.

Then all she knew was panic.

She had often wondered how she would face death when it came for her. She had hoped that she would be a picture in dignity as she walked to meet the Prophets, that she would accept the inevitable without a struggle so that her pagh could go on its way untroubled.

Deep down she had always harboured a hope that death would be quick, instantaneous - a phaser blast that she never saw coming, that didn't give her time to think.

Not this. This was humiliating and graceless and slow and it _hurt_.

Time had slowed down like the old cliché that it was and she was being eaten up by that most primal of reactions - fear.

Her legs kicked wildly, desperately searching for purchase against the edge of the platform as the noose pulled tight.

She tried to breath, newly freed hands scrabbling at her throat. In desperation she jabbed the dagger at the noose, not caring that she was in danger of skewering her own neck

The noose changed - _shifted_ - enveloping her hands, dagger and all.

And she realised that it had been little more than a second or two since Marius had pulled the lever and that, after the initial shock of being jerked to a halt, the rope along the gallows had been lowering her slowly and gently to the ground and it had hardly hurt at all.

As soon as her feet touched the sand, the noose melted away from her neck and pooled before her as Odo took his usual shape and looked down at her in concern, "Major. Are you all right?"

It had only been a few days since she had last seen him, but it seemed like forever and she had missed him terribly.

Every time she had been in trouble over the last few years he had been there to pull her fat out of the fire. Every time she had needed to talk he had offered an ear.

His eyes were as blue as she remembered. They were gazing at her in concern as his photographic memory registered and catalogued every bruise and abrasion on her body; and she knew it was eating him up inside.

She wanted to hug him, to tell him that everything would be all right, but it would hurt them both too much. So she smiled up at him instead, "I never thought I'd be this glad to see you, Constable."

His voice was gruff as he tore his eyes away from her to take in their chaotic surroundings, "I suggest we get out of here…"

She saw the danger a split second before he did.

He was intent on the rioting prisoners and their guards as they fought a pitched battle in the courtyard, and did not see Marius as he leapt from the platform with a cry of fury and landed behind the shapeshifter, his sword held high.

As Odo turned, one arm raised to fend off the blow, Kira stepped forward, her mind clouded in a haze of red rage, and slammed her dagger deep into the overseer's side.

He dropped like a stone, the blade embedded through leather and cloth, tearing an ugly gash in his flesh. He clutched at his side in shock, trying desperately to stem the steady flow of blood that was staining the ground beneath him.

Without a word, Kira bent down and picked up his fallen sword. She flipped the blade over in her hand, holding it like a dagger, and took a step towards the fallen man, moving in for the kill.

"Major…"

His voice was quiet, questioning even as his hand rested on her arm, preventing her from delivering the killing blow.

She tried to pull away, to finish what she had started and he saw for the first time the look of utter desolation in her eyes as she realised he would do everything in his power to stop her.

He wondered what she had gone through in this prison to drive her to an act of cold blooded slaughter and vowed to help her through it when they got home.

For now, though, he could not stand by and watch her sell her soul for a chance at revenge. He tightened his grip on her arm, "Major, there's no need…"

And she turned on him like a wild cat, fury burning her up from within, her voice almost a scream as she pulled away from him, "There's _every_ need!"

He planted himself firmly in front of the injured man and renewed his grip on her arms, "I can't let you do this, Kira."

"Odo, let me go!"

With a strength that belied his size, he pulled her towards him and hugged her close, choking out a whisper that was almost a plea, "Nerys…please…"

She stopped struggling and, with a heart rending sob, dropped the sword, "You weren't here, Odo. You don't know…you don't know…"

He pushed her gently away, looking deep into eyes that were not accustomed to tears, "I'm here now and we have to get away from this place."

She nodded and wiped a hand across her face, dashing away the unwanted tears, "We have to find the Chief and Jhemor."

Odo peered beneath the platform at the continuing mayhem and spotted O'Brien's ruddy face as he battled his way through falling bodies and warring souls in his fight to reach the gallows.

In his wake came a young boy who seemed to be propelled by fear and luck more than judgement, his hands flailing desperately for the Chief's tunic and something to guide him.

O'Brien spotted the Changeling and his face broke into a momentary smile of joy before his fists slammed into the gut of one of the guards who had stepped in his way.

Reaching behind him, he took the boy by the hand and they ran full sprint for the gallows and dived into the relative safety beneath them, "Odo! For the love of God, man, where have you been?"

"It's a long story, Chief."

"I'll bet."

The Irishman spotted Marius and the fallen sword and Odo saw the same fury on his face as he had seen on Kira's a moment earlier. He stepped in front of him, "There's no time, Mr O'Brien, we have to get out of here."

The engineer's eyes were shooting daggers at the overseer, but he made no move towards him, "Yeah, right. The guards in the courtyard are all but finished. Katalia wants to rush the gates then we'll be home free."

"Then I suggest we leave."

He turned to Kira. She was on her knees in the sand, caught up in a bear hug with the boy, hushing him and rocking him like an infant, "It's okay, Jhemor, it's okay…"

"I was _scared_, Major lady. I didn't think you would come back, no I didn't."

"I'm here now."

The boy broke the hug and looked at her with large, earnest eyes, "We're going out the gate, yes we are. Katalia has it _all_ planned."

Kira looked up sharply at O'Brien, "Katalia?"

Jhemor tugged at her arm, nodding fiercely, "_She's_ scared too and wants to cry, too, just like me. And she's _sorry_ she hit you all that time and you did win after all." He gave a shy smile, "Mr 'Brien, 'splained it all."

O'Brien helped her to her feet, "It's good to see you, Major."

"You too, Chief."

As they turned to leave, Marius's smarmy, faltering tones taunted them all and Kira in particular as he called to her from the ground, "What's wrong…deviant? Still afraid…to..kill?"

She turned back slowly, the light fading from her eyes once more and he grinned at her through the pain, one hand still clutched to the weeping wound in his side, "I'm dying…deviant…Don't you…even…have the stomach to…finish me off?"

Then O'Brien's fist connected heavily with his jaw, knocking him unconscious, "Let's get out of here."

With Odo leading Kira by the arm, they stepped back into the courtyard. Bodies lay all around them, the sand littered with the corpses of guards and prisoners. And Katalia was leading the first charge on the gates.

They ran across the sand, intent on joining the throng of surviving prisoners as they fought to overcome the last obstacle that stood between them and freedom.

None of them had any idea what they would do once they were away from the prison. The runabout was useless, a dangerous anachronism to be associated with on this superstitious world and Odo's one friend on the outside had too much to lose to be dragged into all this once more.

Ahead of them, the gates began to roll open, slowly at first and then with gathering speed, and the prisoners jumped back as one body.

Instincts on full alert, Odo brought his little party to a standstill just short of the main group.

Something was wrong.

The gates opened the rest of the way and a legion of men were waiting on the other side, armed with…Odo blinked and O'Brien cursed, "What the _hell_?"

With barely a pause, Katalia raised an arm and screamed a banshee wail. With little left to lose, the prisoners roared their own curses to a Creator who had forsaken them and charged towards the gates.

The men on the other side raised their disruptors and opened fire.

* * *

Chapter Nine is on the way... 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Katalia was the first to fall.

As soon as the gates opened before her she knew she was dead and knew that those who had followed her would perish in her wake. They had dealt with Marius and his cronies so well, and freedom seemed to be only a step away.

And now this.

The sight of a legion of men, armed with weapons the likes of which they had never seen, brought the escapees to a halt some ten yards from the gates.

Katalia looked from face to frightened face as the remains of her hotchpotch army turned to her for guidance.

The courtyard was littered with the bodies of the fallen and she knew that, whatever happened next, the prisoners would all be held responsible.

Everyone from her to O'Brien to the half wit Jhemor and it was all her fault.

She let her eyes travel from person to person, taking in faces that she had never really looked at but which had long ago been etched in her memory.

They had lived through hell together within the walls of Caspii, punished as one for speaking their minds or asking questions that no-one wanted to answer, and now they would die together.

She smiled encouragement at the woman next to her, raised her arm and screamed defiance to the Creator as she ran forward once more.

Something hot slammed into her and she felt herself falling, felt the rough ground dig into her face and then felt nothing.

* * *

The helpless, unarmed prisoners began to fall in a writhing screaming mass of panic and O'Brien took a step forward as if to help them. Odo's hand on his arm held him back, "There's nothing we can do, Chief." 

The Irishman's brow furrowed, "We can't just leave them, they'll be slaughtered."

"And us along with them. Look."

O'Brien glanced back towards the battlefield and saw two of the armed men ploughing across the courtyard towards them.

The guns they were carrying looked like a standard issue disruptor, freely available on the open market, with just a few design tweaks to make them original to this world.

But, to the people they had cut down so ruthlessly, they were nothing short of fantastic, a miracle of a technology they could not even begin to grasp.

And yet they were here, and he would love to know why and how.

Such questions could wait for later, he decided as the closer of the men raised his weapon.

Taking Jhemor by the hand he made to run, to lead his friends to a safety he wasn't sure he could find.

Jhemor, though, tugged impatiently at his hand, "This way, Mr 'Brien, it's this way, yes it is!"

And he led them back into the heart of the prison with a surprising turn of speed.

The building was deserted, all the guards long since joined in the battle in the courtyard, and they made their way quickly and quietly through room after room.

O'Brien did his best to keep the fleeing Jhemor in his sights whilst turning back to where Odo was half leading, half carrying the exhausted Kira in their wake.

The Changeling waved away his offer of help, "Keep up with the boy, Chief, we'll find you."

Then the wall next to his head exploded in a spray of stone chips and he ducked to the floor, pulling Kira with him.

There were heavy footsteps and he found himself nose to toes with a pair of manufactured black leather boots, and looked up into the face of one of their pursuers.

He could not see what O'Brien was doing, but he assumed that the Irishman had made to help because the soldier raised his disruptor and snapped, "Stay where you are!"

And all at once they were caught.

He looked down at Kira and she returned his gaze with a pointed frown, moving one hand very slowly to touch the back of his head then glancing urgently up at their poised attacker.

Without a word, Odo allowed a thin tendril of Changeling substance to snake its silent way past the soldier's boot and up, cobra-like, towards the base of his skull.

It took the smallest effort of concentration to form the tip of the tendril into a sizeable club and he gave the man a hefty blow to the back of the head.

Shocked, but not really hurt, the soldier turned with a cry, expecting to face further assailants behind him, but finding only an empty corridor.

Then O'Brien took him down with an impressive body tackle and the last thing he saw was the Chief's fist as it connected heavily with his face, hammering him into unconsciousness.

Shouldering the soldier's weapon, O'Brien helped Odo and Kira to their feet with a grin, "Nice improvisation, Constable."

The Changeling grunted, "I'm glad you're impressed. Now hadn't you better find your young friend?"

O'Brien glanced back along the gloomy passageway, but Jhemor was long gone.

He shifted the disruptor into a more comfortable position and looked back at his two friends, "Will you be okay?"

Kira smiled, "There's one more of them around here somewhere, Chief, and I don't intend to hang around. We'll be right behind you."

He nodded and jogged off down the corridor.

* * *

Jhemor was pushing open the large outer doors by the time he caught up with him and O'Brien found himself looking out onto the Arena.

A wave of impatience swept over him and he had to stop himself from shaking the child, "Why have you brought us here, Jhemor?"

The boy looked up at him with frightened eyes as the harshness of his tone sank in, "It's the way out, Mr 'Brien, really it is."

"Show me."

He followed as Jhemor scampered across the Arena and began to climb the giant steps of the amphitheatre, racing sure-footed around the perimetre, a sheer drop beckoning below him.

When O'Brien caught up with him, he was peering over the edge to a steep grassy incline, his eyes alight, "We can go down there, yes we can, we can 'scape down there. I've done it lots of times. Lots and lots of times…"

The engineer was incredulous, "Are you mad?"

"I think so. Marius says I am all the time."

Kira and Odo joined them, gazing unenthusiastically at their would be escape route and O'Brien gritted his teeth, "That's not what I meant. How the hell do we get down there?"

Jhemor frowned at him and spoke slowly as if having decided that O'Brien was perhaps not as smart as he had thought, "We jump, Mr 'Brien. We jump and we roll and roll and roll. We'll hurt ourselves a little bit, but we won't die or anything."

Kira gave a wheeze of laughter as she leant heavily into Odo's supporting arms, "That's comforting."

The shapeshifter snorted, "I'm glad you find it amusing, Major."

She smiled up at him, "Believe me, Constable, there has been very little to laugh about so far."

Jhemor tugged at O'Brien's sleeve, "We have to go now, Mr 'Brien, we have to go!"

And he jumped over the edge and rolled down the incline in a tangle of flailing arms and legs.

They didn't have time to see whether he survived the fall intact, as the distant doors slammed open and a posse of heavily armed soldiers burst through and opened fire.

O'Brien gripped tight on his stolen disruptor and ducked as a blast singed his ear, "Christ!"

No more needed to be said and they turned as one and leapt forward into the abyss together.

* * *

Consciousness returned with an agonising stab of pain and Marius groaned and clamped his hands to the fire below his ribs.

The blood was still leaking through his fingers and he knew that if he was to survive he would need help. And fast.

The sounds of battle had stopped and he knew that the rebellion had been suppressed. That the Merchants had taken matters into their own hands.

That he - if he lived - was in deep, deep trouble.

He tried to push himself into a sitting position but the pain was too intense, forcing him back down into the sand beneath the gallows.

Damn that deviant!

He had given his life to upholding the law, to protecting the Merchants from their slanderous enemies, to keeping the decent people on the outside free from danger of body and mind.

And then she had shown up and ruined it all.

He should have had her executed the first time she had shown him disrespect.

He could have convinced the Merchants that her death was necessary - but did he? No. He had offered her a second chance.

None of this would have happened if he hadn't insisted on being such a nice guy.

Well, no more. The next time he saw her he would kill her.

He clenched his fists in anger and rammed them harder against his injured side, relishing the pain, using it to stay alive.

A gloved hand prised his arm away and he peered up at one of the soldiers as the man studied his wound with a critical eye, "Well, Marius, you'll live."

Breathing was becoming difficult and Marius gripped the newcomer's hand with his bloody one, "You have to send more men after them."

"Calm down, it's all under control."

He shook his head, "No, you don't understand. The second deviant. Did you see what it did?"

The man pulled his hand away and beckoned to two other men, "I saw. It's all under control, Marius. You need to concentrate on getting well. You'll have some questions to answer in time."

The two men jogged over and began to help Marius to his feet.

The overseer cried out in pain, "You have to send more men after them!"

The soldier stood up, pulled off his gloves and patted him on the shoulder, "And waste valuable weapons power?"

He shook his head with a smile, "I have a much better idea."

And he turned and walked back towards the prison gates, shedding his uniform tunic as he went, looking for all the world like just another prisoner.

With a groan, Marius allowed himself to be carried across the courtyard.

He blacked out before they reached the gates.

* * *

Miles O'Brien had had some impressive headaches in his time, most of which promised equally impressive hangovers to boot, but the drum solo rolling around in his skull at the moment was in a different class.

The last thing he remembered was leaping off the Arena amphitheatre and the ground coming up to meet him far quicker than he usually liked.

Then he was tumbling and bouncing and his head was connecting with something hard.

And now Odo was shaking him none to gently and calling his name over and over, "Chief? Can you hear me, Chief?"

The engineer allowed his eyes to open just a little and peered out groggily through the slits, "I hear you fine, Odo, just stop rattling me, okay"

"Then would you kindly get up. We have to go."

O'Brien accepted his offered hand and rose unsteadily to his feet before taking a closer look at his fellow escapees.

Odo, naturally enough, looked fine, whilst Kira had a few more bruises to add to her already ample collection.

A somewhat ruffled Jhemor was hopping from foot to agitated foot a short distance away, "Come on, Mr 'Brien. We have to go to the forest, yes we do."

Odo handed him the disruptor and helped him take the first few steps, "We'd better keep up with him, Chief. He's the only one who knows where we are."

And they stumbled off after the boy as he led them through rapidly thickening undergrowth to the forest, calling out as he ran, "There's a big tree what's falled down and you can get right inside it to sleep and hardly any insecks get on you and the big animals can't bite you."

He smiled as Kira made a rueful face, "Don't worry, Major lady, there's hardly any big animals and Mr 'Brien can make a fire to keep them away if they try and eat you."

She tried to smile back, "We have to get there first, Jhemor. How far is it?"

He shrugged, "Quite far, I think. I always stay there for the first night after I've 'scaped. No-one knows about it 'cept prisoners."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, Major lady. They'd go there first if they knew about it. I'm not stupid. Well, not about everything." He came to an abrupt halt and looked around him with a frown, "Oh, dear…"

O'Brien stood next to him, his weapon trained on the surrounding forest, "What's the matter?"

"We've come the wrong way a bit."

"What do you mean 'a bit'?"

The boy turned and began to traipse back along the track, "I wasn't paying attention when I was talking."

O'Brien caught him up and pulled him back, "Where do you think you're going?"

"We missed the turn, Mr 'Brien, we have to go back."

"Jhemor, we're going to have an army tracking us. We can't go back."

He grinned up at the Irishman, "They won't follow us that way. Only a nidiot would jump off the Arena wall." He carried on walking, "You could get killed doing that, you know, yes you could."

O'Brien watched him incredulously, "The blind leading the bloody blind, " he muttered and followed Jhemor; Odo and Kira close behind.

Minutes later they were, the boy insisted, on the right path. He had been running a few metres ahead almost desperate for every fallen tree they passed to be his precious hidey-hole.

O'Brien, though, knew they were still within shouting distance of Caspii and was trying his best to coax the lad into taking things a little slower.

They were known to have escaped and pursuit was a certainty. They didn't need to advertise their position with Jhemor crashing through the undergrowth.

He increased his stride and pulled the boy back, "Take it easy, son, we'll find it soon enough."

There was a rustle of movement to his side and he spun round just in time to glimpse one of the soldiers stepping out of hiding, his disruptor raised like a club at close quarters.

Then there was an explosion of pain in his head and he was falling.

Without sparing his victim another look, the soldier spun his weapon round to face the other three fugitives, "Don't move!"

Jhemor and Kira froze, but Odo took a cautious step forward, putting himself between his friends and the disruptor.

The soldier glared at him and raised his gun a little higher, "I said don't move!"

Odo nodded, his voice quiet, "I heard you."

"Then stay still!"

"I'm afraid I can't allow you to harm my friends."

He looked closely at the young soldier. He was not much more than a boy - a boy responsible for a weapon far too large for him - and the Changeling began to wonder what his chances were of talking his way out of this situation.

He took another step forward, his hands raised in supplication and the soldier snapped his disruptor down to point at O'Brien's head, "I'm warning you!"

He shifted his grip and there was a gentle whine as the weapon charged itself, preparing for the kill.

Odo stopped moving, "You've made your point. What happens now?"

With his prisoners under control, the boy relaxed ever so slightly, "Well…"

Before he could finish, he was borne to the ground by another figure which threw itself from the undergrowth in a blur of fists and feet.

By the time Odo reached them, the would-be executioner was unconscious on the ground, his attacker climbing to his feet with a broad smile on his face, "Odo!"

Odo matched the smile, "Lars!"

Under the astonished gaze of Kira and Jhemor, the two friends shared a hearty handshake.

The Bajoran limped over to the groaning form of Miles O'Brien and helped him to his somewhat unsteady feet, "You okay, Chief?"

He rubbed his head, "Never better." He gazed across at Odo and Lars, "Who's the hero?"

Odo led the other man over to them, "This is Lars. He gave me shelter. Lars, these are my friends."

The farmer shook hands with Kira and she smiled, "Kira Nerys."

O'Brien nodded to the newcomer, his head pounding, "Miles O'Brien. Pleased to meet you. Now, if it's not too much trouble, can we get out of here before soldier boy's friends come looking for him?"

With the help of Lars' knowledge of the area they made good time and were soon resting in a small natural clearing close by Jhemor's beloved tree.

Caspii was an hour's march behind them and they began to feel safe for the first time in a long while.

The farmer and the boy had disappeared into the forest and returned with the wild fowl that was now roasting over a small campfire.

O'Brien was perched on the fallen tree, resting, whilst Kira lay curled in the warmth of the fire, her eyes half closed as sleep crept up on her.

Odo was pacing back and forth at the forest's edge, ever the security officer, ever alert.

The fire guttered and the Chief slid down off the tree and prodded the flames with a stick. Kira looked up at him and he smiled, "Sorry, Major. Didn't mean to wake you."

She shook her head, "I wasn't sleeping. Couldn't get comfortable."

She propped herself up onto one elbow and pinched the bridge of her nose as if warding off a headache, "That's the nice thing about proper beds - they don't irritate cuts and bruises."

O'Brien stared into the flames with an uncomfortable sigh, unsure of what to say, "Major…Nerys…I'm sorry…about what happened."

She shrugged, "Wasn't your fault."

"I should have been there. I should have been able to protect you."

"And got yourself killed in the process? You're not here to be a martyr, Mr O'Brien, you're here to follow orders."

He raised an eyebrow, "Is that so?"

"That's so."

She had laid her head back down on her arms again gazing, unblinking, into the fire.

He doubted that she would be able to rest properly, "Look…if you ever want to talk…"

She closed her eyes, willing him to drop the subject until she felt ready to face it again, "Right now, all I want to do is sleep."

He shot her a look of pure exasperation, "You Bajorans are too stubborn for your own bloody good."

"What was that?"

"Just commenting on the weather, Major. Go to sleep."

And he prodded at the fire once more, turning the well cooked fowl to allow the other side to feel the flames.

* * *

Lars tore a generous chunk from the bird and went to Odo, "Hungry?"

Odo shook his head, "I don't eat."

The farmer took a bite of the tender meat and chewed thoughtfully, "Not bad. Could use a little seasoning."

The Changeling gave a noncommittal grunt and continued to scrutinise the undergrowth, as if expecting Marius to lead an army out to attack them.

Lars swallowed the last of his food and peered up at him, "What's the matter, Odo?"

"Why did you come back? I told you to go home."

The farmer laughed, "That's it? Odo, you saved my boy's life - that's worth more than a ride into town. I couldn't let you launch a one-man raid on Caspii and not offer my help."

Odo looked at him, "And if you had been killed? What would have happened to Rissa and Lisha? What would have happened to Darriel?"

"I'm not without friends, Odo. They would have been taken care of."

"You'll have to excuse Odo, Lars. Thank you's are not really his thing."

They turned to face Kira as she made her way slowly over to join them.

Although unable to sleep, the rest had done her good and she was walking a little easier, though Odo still wished he had access to a medkit.

He hated to see her in pain.

He gave a gentle growl and frowned at her, "I have no trouble saying thank you, Major. I just fail to see the logic in risking so much for someone you barely know."

Lars put a hand on his arm, "My family mean everything to me, be in no doubts as to that. But I was in your debt and I always pay my dues." His eyes locked with Odo's, "Now the debt is paid. What I do from now on is mine to decide."

If the Constable was about to argue, he never got the chance.

A twig snapped just out of sight and then O'Brien was at his side, the disruptor aimed steadily into the undergrowth, "Come out!"

A woman, battered and bleeding, one arm hanging useless at her side, staggered through the trees and stood before them, swaying with the effort of staying on her feet.

Katalia tried to smile, but could only manage a grimace, "I thought it was you, O'Brien."

Miles lowered his weapon and helped the woman across to their makeshift campsite, sitting her down close to the fire, "How the hell did you get away?"

She shrugged, waving away the offer of food, "They didn't move the bodies, you see. When I woke up I was still close to the gates so I ran."

She lowered her eyes, "I'm sorry, O'Brien, I didn't wait to see if any of the others had made it. I just ran."

She wiped her good hand across her eyes with a frustrated snarl, "So much for a clean getaway."

Odo crouched down next to her, examining the disruptor burns to her mangled arm and knowing there was nothing he could do to help, "Did anyone see you escape?"

"I don't think so."

Kira scowled, "But you can't be sure. I think we should move away from here. If she was followed, we're sitting ducks."

Katalia glowered, "I wasn't followed."

The Bajoran matched her scowl for scowl, the nagging ache of bruises still too fresh in her memory for complete forgiveness and allied trust, "We should move. We've been here too long as it is."

Katalia pushed herself to her feet, "There's something I have to show you first."

* * *

The further they travelled, the more nervous O'Brien was becoming.

Katalia was leading the way with too much confidence for some-one who was heading back towards the prison from which she had just escaped.

He noticed that the further they went, the slower Jhemor was walking, until he was lagging a fair way behind them; whilst Kira was on full alert, her suspicious eyes scanning the forest around them for any sign of danger.

Finally, as the distant walls of Caspii peeked over the horizon through the thinning trees, she came to sudden halt, causing Odo and Lars to all but walk into her, "All right, Katalia, where the hell are you taking us?"

The big woman shot her a look of irritation, "Keep moving. It's not much further."

Kira scowled, "Why can't you just tell us what it is you want to show us?"

"Because I don't have the words." And she continued walking, striding ahead with the same determination as before.

Kira looked at O'Brien and Odo, "I don't like this."

The Chief hefted the disruptor and charged it, the power pack whining gently, "At the first sign of trouble, run like hell."

She snorted, "I intend to."

Then Katalia's excited voice called back to them, "Here! I've found them!"

They caught up to her at a jog and skidded to a halt as the second anachronisms of the day stood in front of them.

They looked for all the world like troop transports.

Old troop transports to be sure, but as close to a miracle as you could hope to find on a pre industrial world.

About twenty feet long with caterpillar track wheels and seating inside for some thirty men, they were solid as a tank and just as out of place.

O'Brien walked slowly up to one of them and reached out to run his hand along its smooth metal surface as if to convince himself that it was real, "What the bloody hell..?"

Though obviously afraid of what she had found, Katalia was glaring at them with smug superiority, "You see! Everything I told you was true. Everything."

O'Brien nodded, his eyes never leaving the vehicle before him, "So it would seem."

He felt a tug at his sleeve and turned to find Jhemor, wide eyed and open mouthed, hiding behind him, "What is it, Mr 'Brien? How did it get here?"

The boy's second question was the easier to deal with at the moment and he ruffled Jhemor's hair in a way he knew would have driven him mad at that age, "I have no idea, son, and there doesn't seem to be anyone around to ask."

Jhemor bit his lip and lowered his voice to an almost whisper, "Do you think them soldiers put them here?"

O'Brien crouched down a little until he was face to face with the boy, matching his stage whisper with one of his own, "I think there's a very good likelihood that you're right. I'm just wondering where they got them in the first place."

After the smallest of pauses, the boy smiled brightly, forgetting to whisper, "We could go to the Palace!"

Kira turned away from her inspection of the vehicle, "The Palace?"

Jhemor nodded, "The Merchant's Palace. We could go there and ask them if they know, yes we could. The Merchants know everything. Marius told me."

Lars sighed, "A fine idea, except no-one knows where it is and if it even exists."

As one, they turned back to the troop transport, dismissing Jhemor's dreams of palaces as whims of fancy.

The boy, though, was hopping from foot to foot with excitement, "Oh yes, yes, I do! But it's a really, really long way away. I'd been walking all night and all day and all night again when I saw it."

With a frown, the farmer stepped nearer to him, "You've seen the Merchant's Palace?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"And it's big."

Lars threw up his hands in frustration, "Jhemor?"

Kira had been listening to the exchange with growing fascination.

With the runabout useless she, O'Brien and Odo had no way of getting off this world - of even working out where exactly they were.

If the Merchants had access to technology of this scale on a basically primitive planet, what else did they have hidden away?

She had little doubt that they would be unwelcome to say the least, but she had no intention of living out her life amongst people willing to kill her just because of the ridges on her nose.

If they had to risk themselves confronting these Merchants, then so be it.

She had no idea whether they were from a different social structure or from a different world all together - but it was time they met.

O'Brien and Odo had managed to open a panel in the side of the vehicle and were discussing what they had found in low voices.

With any luck they would not have to walk any further.

They would get nowhere, though, if their would-be guide went off in a huff.

Easing the agitated Lars out of the way, Kira put her hand on Jhemor's shoulder and smiled, "Jhemor, which way is the Palace?"

He pointed, "That way" then glared sulkily at Lars, "And I'm not going to tell you any more things ever ever again if you keep on shouting at me, no I'm not."

Lars raised his hands and backed away, "I'm sorry."

"'S okay."

O'Brien stepped up behind Kira, his hands grubby with engine oil, "Major, I think I can get one of these started."

She followed him back over to the transport and peered into the workings, recognising nothing, "How long?"

He shrugged, "A few minutes."

"Do it, Chief."

The voice which interrupted was heavy with suspicion, "Do what?" and they turned to find Katalia watching them, her good hand clenched into a fist.

Odo stepped between Katalia and the vehicle, shielding the Chief from her superstitious gaze, "If he can start one of these vehicles, we can be at the Palace in hours rather than days."

"Hours?"

"Yes."

She turned away, deep in thought and O'Brien began to tug at the wiring of the transport, searching for some sort of ignition.

Her shout stopped him and he spun round to find her at his shoulder, eyes wild as she watched him work, "Wait! How do you know what this is?"

He dropped the wires as if they were hot, "I…"

She grabbed his wrist, "You were with them all along, weren't you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"The Merchants!" She released his arm and stepped away, "You were with them all along."

"That's rubbish and you know it."

Katalia shook her head rapidly, "No it's not. Look at you. You know what this…this…thing is, don't you?"

A sigh, "I have a rough idea."

Fury sparked in her eyes, pushing aside the superstitious fear of the unknown, "Everything I told you back at the prison, everything I said. You acted as though I were crazy and all the time you knew I was telling the truth."

O'Brien turned away from the transport and looked at her in irritation, "What did you expect me to say? Would you have trusted me if I'd told you I knew what you were talking about?"

"I…"

"Or would you have jumped to the same conclusion you're jumping to now?"

"I suppose so, but…"

The fatigue from the last few days was eating into him, making him irritable and he took a step closer and glared at her, one hand shooting out to point at Kira, "Do you think I would have let that bastard Marius get his hands on her if I'd been one of them?"

Katalia looked at her companions closely.

Half a lifetime of being accused of deviancy, of being thrown into prison at the slightest provocation had left her with little trust of strangers.

O'Brien had seemed like just another prisoner when she approached him, with only his friendship for the deviant making him different.

She had thought he was safe.

She knew what Marius liked to do to those who crossed him and her contacts had told her that he had taken particular pleasure in brutalising Kira.

How likely was it that some-one would submit to that treatment as part of some elaborate ruse?

Her instincts were screaming at her to trust these people; telling her that she had little to lose either way.

She lowered her eyes and nodded, "But how do you know..?"

O'Brien patted her on the shoulder, "There are lots of things I know that I can't explain. Trust me."

And he turned back to the machine and pulled a bundle of cables from its guts.

Katalia watched him work, watched him perform miracles she could only dream of.

She was turning her back on everything with which she felt safe and he had to understand her limits.

She raised her eyes again, her voice soft, "If you are one of them, I'll kill you."

He nodded, "I don't doubt it."

He did something to the handful of things he was tinkering with and the vehicle sprang to life with a chugging growl before settling down to a gentle purr.

Katalia and Jhemor jumped back, eyes wide, expecting the beast to leap forward and devour them.

O'Brien, though, was grinning as he pulled open a side door, "There we go. Everybody in."

Lars and Jhemor climbed in, perching on the edge of their seats, unsure what to expect next.

O'Brien stepped aside to allow Katalia access, but the big woman didn't move, her face a mask of concentration, "Are you sure this is wise?"

The Chief sighed, "It's perfectly safe, Katalia, there's nothing to be afraid of."

She scowled, "I'm not afraid, O'Brien, just cautious. Am I the only one who thinks this isn't right?"

The engineer ran a hand through his hair, his face reddening as he controlled his mounting temper and Odo stepped forward, "What do you mean?"

Katalia gestured sharply at the machines before her, desperate to be able to put her thoughts into words, "I mean these being here."

Lars poked his head out of the transport, "We don't have time for this…"

"Yes we do!"

A piece of an unknown puzzle dropped into place and she realised what it was that was bothering her.

So many wonders in one day had dulled her senses to the obvious, she decided.

She took the Chief by the arm again and look at him closely, "O'Brien, did you tell anyone what we had planned for Kira's execution?"

He frowned, "No, of course not."

She turned to Kira, "And you?"

The Bajoran paused in her efforts to climb up into the transport and gave an unbecoming snort as she recalled her experiences, "Who would I tell? The only friendly face I saw was the messenger who gave me the dagger."

Why couldn't they see the obvious? It had been in front of them all morning. It had been there to see as they escaped the prison, as they traipsed through the forest.

She clenched her fist In frustration, "Then how…"

Odo was nodding, realisation dawning, "Then how did they know there was going to be an escape attempt?"

"Exactly!"

O'Brien closed the access panel to the engine, "Some-one must have tipped them off. Which means…"

Kira jumped down from the transport and joined them, "Which means that some-one inside Caspii betrayed us."

* * *

Thanks to all of you for your wonderful comments! Keep 'em coming!Chapter Ten is in the works.Thanks for sticking with me. 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

A tangible hush had shrouded Ops at Baskell's announcement and every eye turned to the viewer as the face of their visitor snapped into focus.

Sisko wasn't sure what he was expecting to see. The Federation was a melting pot of different races, different faces, all as normal to him as his own. He had been privy to first contact on a very few occasions and each time had prepared himself not to react disrespectfully to the people he met.

When a very human looking male appeared on the screen he was almost disappointed.

The man had fair skin, light hair and narrow brown eyes. He seemed to be dressed in some kind of white tunic, trimmed with gold.

What they could see of the ship behind him was sparse to say the least.

He studied them for a long moment before speaking in clipped tones, "My name is Hern and I come with greetings from the Merchant Empire."

Sisko stepped forward, his hands at his side, "I am Captain Benjamin Sisko. Welcome to Deep Space Nine."

Hern nodded, "Thank you, Captain. We have come regarding a scoutship which found its way to your part of space…"

He had expected as much and was grateful at least that these people were not jumping to any unfortunate conclusions which could not be resolved in a friendly manner.

He braced his shoulders, "Yes. I'm afraid the ship exploded shortly after it arrived."

Hern paused and Ops held its collective breath before the Merchant inclined his head and said, "I see."

Knowing more of an explanation was expected, Sisko seized the moment, "If you would care to dock at the station we can talk further."

The viewer flickered into static as Hern cut the connection and they waited in silence.

Seconds later the picture returned and the man's ice chip eyes bored down on them, "Acceptable. Our ship will remain here. Prepare to receive a shuttle."

"Understood. Sisko out."

And the people in Ops heaved a sigh of relief. There would be no misunderstandings today. At least not yet.

It was Dax who spoke first, a slender eyebrow raised in amusement, "Abrupt, aren't they?"

"Arrogant is the word I'd use," muttered Baskell from his station, not realising how much his voice would carry in the virtual quiet and blushing as Sisko turned to him with a frown.

"That's as maybe, Mr Baskell, but they are to be treated as guests."

"Yes sir." He lowered embarrassed eyes to his console.

As life in Ops returned to normal, Sisko headed for the turbolift, "Dax, Andrews, let's go and greet our new arrivals. Baskell, explain the situation to Admiral James and the First Minister. Tell them I'll be in touch."

"Sir."

And the 'lift took them away.

* * *

The red wheel door of airlock 5 trundled back to reveal Hern and another man. They stepped across the threshold without a pause, glancing around them with an air of subdued disdain.

Sisko stepped forward, "Welcome to DS9, Mr Hern. May I present Commander Jadzia Dax and Ensign Jill Andrews."

Hern nodded down his nose at the two women and waved a vague hand at the man behind him, "My assistant. We will discuss our scoutship."

The Starfleet officers looked at one another in bewilderment, then the Captain remembered his manners and nodded, "We can speak in my office."

Now Hern sat at one side of the desk whilst Sisko sat at the other as Dax introduced the newcomers to the delights of raktajino.

Hern barely glimpsed at his mug whilst his assistant drank deeply and almost choked, excusing himself politely and declaring that it wasn't really to his taste.

Sisko instructed the computer to ready the files of the runabout explosion and turned to his guests, "When your ship came through the wormhole we tried to communicate, but we received no reply to our hails."

Hern shook his head with a small smile, "No. The ship was fully automated - used for exploration only."

"I'm relieved to hear it. We lost one of our own ships in a rescue attempt."

The dismay which played across the Merchant's face seemed to be genuine, though Dax mentally noted that the man's body language did not change, "I'm sorry. We had no idea the scout would encounter intelligent life. This is most unfortunate."

Dax stepped forward, "Actually, we have evidence which suggests our ship may have been dragged back to your space."

Surprise replaced concern before settling on neutral inquiry, "You do?"

She called to the computer to play back her findings at a speed slow enough to discern, and they all watched events play themselves out once more on the screen on Sisko's desk.

As the explosion died, Hern leant forward in his chair, his voice a whisper, "So _that's_ the cause. What is that?"

"It's a stable wormhole." She flicked the screen closed, drawing their attention back to her face, "We thought at first that the scout was a visitor from the Gamma Quadrant. Then we discovered your 'tunnel'"

He smiled at her, a tolerant smile much like a teacher would turn on a slow but promising pupil, "It is called a breach. A very economical way to travel from place to place. Unfortunately without designated co-ordinates, the opening is completely random. That is why scout ships are unmanned. It guards against loss of life in accidents such as this."

Sisko was watching the man closely, still unsure what to make of him, "Then you had no intention of arriving inside the wormhole?"

"None at all. The scout sent back the co-ordinates and data it had retrieved on its journey. The readings told us that it had been damaged and we followed to see what had happened."

"Why wasn't _your_ ship damaged?" asked Dax.

Hern shrugged, "Oh, scouts have very weak hulls and little shielding. _Our_ ship is much stronger."

She looked to Sisko for a moment and he read the question in her eyes and nodded, "What about the runabout?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Our ship." She said a little too eagerly, "Could it have made it to the other side?"

Hern let his shoulders slump, shaking his head, "I very much doubt it. I'm sorry, but nothing came through. It couldn't have survived."

Dax opened her mouth but no sound would come as she gazed at the stranger before her.

To have the rug pulled from beneath her feet again was too much to bare and she knew she had to get out of sight before her feelings let her down. Benjamin would have another reason to be angry with her, but she would face him later.

She pushed herself away from the desk as Curzon tried to calm her, "_Take it slow, girl, the door's not going anywhere."_

Then muttering a quick, "Excuse me" she left Sisko's office before he could stop her.

For a moment all was silence as they watched the doors close behind the departing woman, then Hern cleared his throat, "Captain Sisko, I apologise for your loss. Our only intention is to make friends."

He nodded, dragging his mind away from Dax and the difficult times he guessed were ahead, "As is ours, Hern. Won't you both stay and enjoy a little of our hospitality?"

"That is much appreciated."

He led the two men out into Ops and approached the central table where Kladzi was busy working, "My first officer, Colonel Kladzi, will see to your needs."

Hern nodded, "Thank you, Captain." then peered down his nose at the big Bajoran, "Take us to your nearest inn. We are thirsty."

For a second, Kladzi glowered at Sisko, resenting to his core that he had been assigned baby sitting duties. Then he stood with a slight bow to his two charges, said, "This way, gentlemen." and led them to the turbolift.

The Captain tapped his Security Chief on the shoulder and gestured towards the Merchants, "Go with them, Andrews, keep an eye on things. Quark's is the perfect place to ruin diplomatic relationships. Especially new ones."

"Yes sir."

Then he returned to his office to think things through.

* * *

No-one in Quark's looked up as the little group entered, Kladzi ushering Hern through the throng of alien drinkers to a secluded table in the corner behind the Dabo wheels.

Visitors to the station were nothing new and, as long as they paid their way and kept out of trouble, they would be left alone.

At the bar, Quark was deep in conversation with a Bolian, the man's split blue face creased in concentration as the little Ferengi displayed the remaining smoky green crystals and filled his already oft drained glass.

"Where did you get them?"

Quark chuckled, "That's not important, friend. What _is_ important is that they are the only two Blood Crystals to be found outside of Vulcan and you can have them for a mere eight bars of latinum a piece."

The Bolian frowned, "Eight bars? I don't know, Quark, that's a bit steep."

The Ferengi picked up one of the stones and placed it in his potential customer's hand, trying his best to coax a decision out of him, "But think of the profit you'll make when you sell them back to the Vulcans!"

The man toyed with his drink a little unsteadily as the real alcohol began to seep through his stout metabolism, "But they'll want to know where I got them."

"They'll be so pleased to have them back that they won't even think to ask."

The Bolian turned the crystal over in his hand, transfixed by the way the gaudy lights of the bar reflected through its many faceted surface and Quark could feel a grin building as the man reached for his credit pouch.

Then an all too familiar voice called to him from across the room, "Quark!" and he looked up to see Andrews pushing through the crowd towards him.

And she did not look happy.

With a squeak of terror he snatched the crystal from the still frowning Bolian and slammed it, its double and his fingers in the drawer beneath the bar.

"_Security Chief Andrews_" he cried as the Bolian looked first at him, then the approaching officer and beat a hasty retreat, "What can I do for you _this_ time."

She looked curiously at him as he sucked his throbbing fingers, "Colonel Kladzi has a delegation of visitors over there who would like some drinks."

A confused mixture of annoyance and relief took his mind from the pain in his hand.

She was not out to get him and had _still_ managed to scupper a lucrative business deal, "And he sent you to fetch them? Something of a comedown, don't you think?"

She glowered, "Just bring your order padd and get over there."

He followed her back across the room towards the furthest table, "So who are they?"

"What?"

He tapped at the padd, "These delegates. Who are they?"

She eased past a gaggle of giggling Betazoid students, "They call themselves Merchants. They're the owners of the ship that blew up outside the wormhole."

Quark glanced back towards the bar, wondering how safe his precious crystals were now that their owners had arrived, then turned to his new customers with his most toothy smile, "Gentlemen! Always a pleasure to welcome new customers. I am Quark, your host, here to see to your drinking and gambling needs. What'll it be?"

Hern looked up at him in mild disinterest, "You run this tavern?"

"I _own_ this tavern."

The Merchant reached into his tunic and tossed a gold coin to the grinning Ferengi.

Quark caught it automatically and tested it with his teeth before slipping it into his pocket, "And anything you need will be yours."

"We would try a carafe of your finest ale."

He tapped a few keys on the order padd, "Coming right up."

The next hour passed with interminable slowness for Jill Andrews.

Kladzi and Hern downed jug after frothing jug of ale and talked about everything from women to ship design, whilst she, at Kladzi's order, stood to ridged attention behind the table and waited.

From what she could gather from the increasingly slurred conversation taking place before her, the Merchants had had some kind of space travel for many centuries, though lack of resources had made their progress slow.

Kladzi, his tongue a little too loose with the effect of alcohol had promised that Bajor and the Federation would be more than willing to open up trade negotiations which would be beneficial to both parties.

It was at that point that she had stopped listening, allowing her attention to stray.

A hand on her arm made her jump and she found herself face to face with Hern's assistant.

He frowned, "I apologise. I did not mean to startle you."

She looked him up and down. He seemed very young to be carrying the burden of first contact. But then, he was probably thinking the same thing about her, "That's okay. I should have been paying attention."

He smiled, "It is just that I have a question."

"Go on."

"I am curious. What kind of ship is _that_?"

Andrews followed his gaze and saw a goliath of a ship coming in on thrusters to dock at one of the upper pylons, its glowing engines clearly visible through the windows of the upper Promenade, "That's the USS Hercules, a Steamrunner class starship."

He raised an eyebrow, "It looks powerful."

She smiled, remembering the awe she had felt when the specs for the ship were first made available for viewing, "She certainly is. She can sustain a steady warp 9.5 over distance, has quantum pulse torpedoes and dual rotating metaphasic shields."

There was a scraping of chair legs as Hern looked up and pushed himself to his feet for a better view, struggling with the words, unable to get his somewhat tipsy tongue round them, "Dual rotating..?"

"Metaphasic shields. You could land on the surface of a _star_ and they would hold out."

He took one last look at the ship as its tail end disappeared from view, "Impressive. It's a shame your Amazon wasn't equipped with them, not to mention our scoutship."

And he sat down again, a little too quickly.

Scowling openly at Andrews until she returned to attention, Kladzi picked up the jug of ale and refilled the Merchant's glass, determined to bring the conversation back in line, "Indeed. But we're not here to ponder over what might have been."

And the day plodded on.

Andrews let her gaze bore into the back of Kladzi's head, allowing a string of unpleasant fates for the Colonel to play themselves out in her mind.

She could think of a thousand and one things she would rather be doing instead of standing here.

Hell, she could think of a thousand and one things she would usually run a mile from but would make an exception for rather than be standing here.

She had crime reports to file, security rotations to monitor and she should really drop in to Dax's quarters and make sure the scanner was returned to geology before some-one reported it missing.

She let her mind wander back over the events of the last few days.

She had been catapulted from deputy to acting Chief of Security in the blink of an eye and had wished aloud every evening that Bajor would send her replacement the next day.

If she thought about it, the abruptness of events was the only thing stopping her from surrendering to total panic and she was quietly proud of the progress she had made.

If she could just survive guard duty for the station's tipsy first officer she would seek out Martin Baskell and drag him off to Quark's for a self confident drink or two.

And while they were there, they could drink to absent friends and finally, reluctantly bury the ghosts from the Amazon which had been haunting the station for far too long.

The Amazon…?

She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts, then let her gaze settle on Hern as he drank to yet another toast.

Something was not right…

She stepped forward and tapped Kladzi on the shoulder, "Colonel, can I speak to you?"

He looked up at her with ill concealed impatience, "Not now, Ensign."

"Colonel, it's important."

With an apologetic smile to his guests, Kladzi pushed back his chair and stood up, taking her arm and steering her none too gently out of earshot, "Make it quick."

She pulled herself free and considered the man scowling before her, wondering how she was to broach the topic that was niggling at her mind.

That he did not like her was obvious to everyone, but she had no real reason to doubt that he knew where his duties lay.

She jumped in with both feet, "How did he know the name of the runabout?"

He almost laughed, "What?"

He was halfway drunk, so she let his incredulity slide and spoke as slowly as she dared without sounding sarcastic, "He said it's a shame our Amazon didn't have better shields. How did he know that the runabout was called the Amazon?"

"Some-one must have mentioned it."

She had thought of that - had gone over the conversations of the day in her head more than once, "No. No, they haven't. I've been with him all the time and no-one has called it by name."

With a renewed pang of excitement she knew she was right.

There had been no mention of the runabout's call sign. Not here and not in Ops.

The Merchants _must_ have seen the little ship on the other side of their breach. Which meant that it had survived the explosion.

Which meant that Odo and the others were alive.

Which meant…"Ensign, we don't have time for this nonsense."

She gaped at him, unable to believe that he was dismissing what she had told him.

He made to return to the table, but she snatched him back by the arm, almost causing him to over balance, and matched his hostile glare with one of her own, "_Nonsense_! Colonel, they may have been lying to us from the outset. We have to find out what they know about our people."

He took a step closer, "You will _drop_ the subject, Ensign Andrews and that is an order. You will not disrupt a diplomatic occasion just because you feel bitter at being put on report. Is that clear?"

"You've got to be kidding…"

He curled his lip and straightened up, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear, "_Is that clear_?"

And she knew in an instant that this man had no concept of duty, did not care what happened outside of his control and would not lift one finger to help her.

She let her head drop lest he see the inferno of anger spreading across her face and whispered, "Yes, sir."

A discrete cough from behind them revealed Hern and his assistant as they watched the exchange cautiously.

The Merchant gave an embarrassed smile, "I'm sorry to interrupt, Colonel, but we really should be returning to our ship. Your hospitality has been impeccable, but we are expected home."

Kladzi nodded, "Of course, Hern, of course. I apologise for this…"

He waved a benevolent hand, "Think nothing of it. A leader of men has many unfortunate responsibilities. We should pay our respects to your Captain."

And he turned and walked from the bar, his assistant in tow.

Kladzi stepped in front of Andrews as she made to follow, "We will discuss your conduct later."

She didn't grace him with a reply, but caught up with the Merchants and called a turbolift to take them all to Ops.

* * *

A further hour spent at attention passed and Andrews vowed silently that from now on she would delegate when it came to escort duty.

She had a crick in her back that would take forever to ease and her feet, in those damned uncomfortable military issue boots, were aching.

They had made the short trip to Ops in uncomfortable silence and Kladzi had led them straight into Sisko's office.

If the Captain noticed the air of tension between his first officer and security chief he made no comment, just shook hands with the two Merchants and began yet another bout of small talk.

Jill stood in front of the doors and pondered her situation.

Sisko had long passed the end of his tether when it came to the runabout situation and she was already on report for her part in the past few days' play.

For just a moment he had been ready to believe that there was hope and then had those hopes dashed with Hern's declaration that the little ship had not survived.

She had watched his face fall at the news and knew that broaching the subject now was liable to get her into more trouble than she cared to think about.

But she _knew_ Hern was not telling the whole truth and, though Kladzi had proven to be as shallow as she feared, Sisko was a man of honour who cared deeply for those in his charge.

He would surely listen.

Hern reached across the desk and shook hands with the Captain once more, then rose as if to leave, "Once again may I say we are deeply distressed that our people had to meet under such tragic circumstances. We hope our friendship will be a long and prosperous one."

Sisko smiled, "On behalf of the Federation and Bajor, we return the sentiment and invite you to share in our hospitality whenever you wish."

They were leaving.

She didn't know whether they had heard what she said to Kladzi in Quark's, but she got the distinct feeling that if she let them go now, they would never return.

Taking her career in her hands she stepped forward and addressed Sisko, "Excuse me, sir."

He raised an eyebrow, "Andrews?"

She could see Kladzi glaring at her from the corner of her eye and swallowed, hoping to God that she was doing the right thing, "I have a question for Mr Hern."

The Colonel let out a low growl, "Ensign, I'm warning you…"

"I was talking to the _Captain_…"

Sisko frowned and turned to his first officer, "Kladzi, what's going on?"

He sniffed dismissively, "It seems our new Security Chief can't stomach being disciplined herself."

How _dare_ he..? "That's not true! I just have to ask…"

Kladzi waved her away, "You are _dismissed_, Ensign."

This wasn't going right and she gave up any pretence at protocol in an open plea, "Captain, please. I need to ask…"

Hern coughed and raised his hands in an embarrassed gesture of concern, "This seems to be an internal matter, Captain Sisko. We should leave."

And the Captain actual glared at her, silently ordering her to shut the hell up.

With a final desperate effort she stepped up to the Merchant and shouted in his face as Kladzi moved to pull her away, "HOW DID YOU KNOW THAT OUR LOST RUNABOUT WAS CALLED THE AMAZON!"

And there was silence.

Sisko gazed long and hard at her and sat back down in his seat.

The two Merchants looked at one another before Hern said, "I beg your pardon?"

She looked to the Captain, not willing to go on alone, hoping he would take up the baton and continue the charge.

But he nodded at her and left her centre stage, "Go ahead, Ensign."

She pulled herself up to her full height and looked Hern in the eye, "In Quark's just now you commented that it was a shame 'your Amazon' didn't have better shields. How did you know the name Amazon. No-one even mentioned it."

With a snort of laughter he turned away from her, appealing to Sisko like a close friend, "Captain, please, of what are we being accused?"

But Sisko was having none of it.

He sat stock still and returned Hern's gaze impassively, "Would you answer the question."

The Merchant opened his mouth to speak, but found himself struggling for words.

His assistant stepped in front of him in an attempt to cover his superior's shortcomings and focused on the only ally he had in the room, Kladzi, "I believe the Ensign has made an honest mistake. The name of your unfortunate craft was mentioned on many occasions." He gave a disarming smile, "Your Captain used it himself during our initial conversation."

Kladzi nodded and turned to Sisko, but the Captain silenced him with a wave of the hand, "Computer. Access security files pertaining to transmissions between Ops and the Merchant vessel at docking port 5 and all conversations in Ops since said vessel's arrival.."

The computer chirped, "Files accessed."

"Scan files for any mention of the word 'Amazon'."

The reply was instantaneous, "No mention of the word 'Amazon' was made."

And Kladzi stepped back and didn't say a word.

Sisko stood slowly and walked up to Hern, towering above the smaller man, his tone low and measured, "I would like an explanation."

The arrogance that had been bubbling beneath the surface since his ship had arrived, burst forth and Hern scowled up at him, "Captain, I don't like your tone…"

Sisko didn't take his eyes off the man, glaring into him like the devil himself as he spoke to the nervous looking Andrews, "Ensign, place Mr Hern and his colleague under arrest and escort them to Security."

He believed her! Thank God, the Prophets and any other deities who happened to be watching - she had been right.

She wanted to run down to the habitat ring and tell Dax that the last few days had all been worthwhile. They would have a chance to get their people back and this time _everyone_ was on their side.

Her heart was hammering in her chest as she pulled her phaser, and her voice shook, "Yes, sir." She stepped aside and waited for her two prisoners to precede her out the door, "This way, gentlemen."

Sisko watched as the doors to his office closed behind the young Security Chief and her two charges then hit his comm. badge, "Sisko to Baskell."

"Go ahead."

"Lock down the docking clamps on the Merchant vessel. They're not to leave without my express permission."

"Understood."

And he moved on to other matters.

Kladzi was standing at attention in front of his desk, waiting to be dismissed.

He took a moment to compose himself before looking up at his first officer.

First officer…that was a joke. The man was a liability. Incompetent at best, Sisko harboured suspicions that he was wilfully malicious when it came to things he did not agree with.

Things like green Ensigns standing in as Chief of Security.

When he finally looked up, he made no effort to hide the displeasure in his eyes, "Colonel Kladzi. A word, please."

"Sir, I apologise for the disruption to the meeting…"

He had given him his chance.

He had tried to push all thoughts of Kira and the way they gelled professionally to the back of his mind.

He had tried to accept that different people worked in different ways.

The fact that he did not actually _like_ the man had not made things easy.

He held up a hand and stopped him in his tracks, a pent up fury boiling within him, "Can I take it, Colonel, that Andrews voiced her concerns to you regarding the Merchants _before_ you entered this office?"

"Yes, sir, but…"

He slowed his breathing. _Calm down_, "And how did you act on her information?"

Kladzi had the good grace to squirm, "Captain, Andrews' approach to the matter was inappropriate…"

He sounded like a schoolboy caught in the middle of some act of adolescent rebellion and desperately trying to pass the blame when his courage failed, Sisko despised him for it, "Inappropriate?"

"There are _ways_ of doing things…"

This coming from a man who had done his level best to tip the usually ordered station routine on its head.

The Captain leapt to his feet, eyes blazing, "Enough! You have been on her back since the moment you arrived. You have gone out of your way to make her life a misery and you have contributed very little to the running of this station during a difficult time."

He rounded his desk and glowered down at the man, "You, Colonel, are a poor excuse for a first officer and, should our people be returned to us alive, I will take the greatest pleasure in personally kicking your ass all the way back to Bajor."

"How dare…"

He didn't pause, didn't acknowledge the red fury colouring the man's cheeks, "You have repeatedly questioned the competence of Major Kira, you have given free reign of the station to a Ferengi con artist and I consider it a personal insult that the Provisional Government deemed you suitable to fill this position. Get out!"

If it had been Kira standing in front of him she would have hesitated, would have glared at him one last time before turning on her heel and taking a dignified walk back to her station.

Either that or, if she felt particularly hard done by, she would have squared up to him and matched his fury with some of her own, doing verbal battle until some-one in Ops called Security for fear that their commanding officers were about to kill one another.

It was the way it had always been and he would have expected nothing less.

_Kladzi_ didn't even look at him, just turned tail and fled.

As the office doors closed, Sisko just glimpsed him heading for the turbolift. Escaping.

He took a moment to compose himself, then left Ops and headed for Security.

* * *

Down in Security, Andrews was at her desk, tapping intently at a data padd, but she leapt to her feet when Sisko walked in.

He smiled and waved her away, still unused to her cadet level expressions of respect, "As you were Ensign."

She sat down and quickly finished her work, "Yes, sir. I take it you're here to see the Merchants."

He nodded, "How are they behaving?"

A shrug, "It's been a while since I've arrested anyone as arrogant as Hern, but otherwise no problem." She got up once more, "I'll take you to them."

But he stopped her with a touch on the arm and she looked up at him with a questioning frown, "Sir?"

"I just wanted to say 'good work', Ensign. The last few days can't have been easy for you and you have conducted yourself admirably."

Jill beamed, feeling better than she had in a long while, "Thank you, sir."

He nodded, "I'd better have a talk with our _guests_."

Andrews had placed Hern and his assistant in the same holding cell.

The head Merchant was draped across the only bunk, leaning back on one arm like an Emperor at a feast, whilst his assistant stood at his feet, awaiting orders.

When Sisko entered he snapped to attention whilst Hern merely looked down his nose at the Captain and stifled a yawn, "Captain, I don't appreciate being locked up like this…"

"And _I_ don't appreciate being _lied_ to by people who claim to be our friends."

Sisko sat down at the table in the middle of the room, "Now, I'll say this once and only once. Tell us how to open the breach and where to find our colleagues and I will let you go."

Hern raised an amused eyebrow, "And if I refuse?"

"Then I will turn you over to the Dominion and let you explain to them why you are holding one of their gods captive."

The Merchant paused then shrugged, "And who are the Dominion?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

He looked at his assistant with a puzzled frown and Sisko knew exactly what they were thinking.

They had expected questions, interrogation, threats which were clearly understood by both sides.

In one sentence he had done two things. He had presented an unknown quantity to Hern which spoke of dark times ahead for him and his kind. He had introduced a new team to the game.

That Hern had not recognised the name Dominion told him that these people were probably from neither the Alpha Quadrant nor the Gamma Quadrant.

He kept his gaze impassive, fixed unflinching on the face of his prisoner and waited.

Hern bared his mental claws once more and drew on his consummate arrogance to hurl his remaining ammunition.

The ice in his eyes and voice had crippled the arguments of lesser men, "Captain, I am not used to being threatened in this manner."

But Sisko was on home ground and never the lesser man, "_Get_ used to it."

For the first time since the Captain had entered, Hern slid off of the bunk and walked to the forcefield separating them, hands held out in supplication, "Really, Captain, if we could just talk this over like civilised beings…"

"I'm listening."

"Perhaps a little food and wine would help. We've had a long trip…"

Sisko turned on his heel and barked, "Andrews!"

She would never admit to listening at the door, but was at his side in record time, "Yes, sir?"

"No food, no _wine_ and no visitors until further notice. Is that understood?"

She nodded, "Yes. Sir."

"I'll be in docking bay 5 should they become chatty."

She followed him out of the detention area as Hern finally dropped his supercilious cloak and revealed the panicked man underneath, bellowing after them like just another drunk, "Captain, this is _outrageous_. How dare you treat us like this. How _dare_ you…"

The door hissed shut, cutting off his protests and Andrews grinned up at her commanding officer, "I think you've annoyed them, sir."

Sisko raised an eyebrow and grinned right back, "I hope so, Ensign, I really hope so."

* * *

The door had chimed twice before he heard Dax's tired voice call, "Enter."

And when it whooshed open to the half lit gloom of her quarters, Sisko sighed heavily.

Although she _was_ still technically relieved of duty he had fully expected her to talk him into allowing her to hang around Ops.

She had been almost her old self when breaking the news of the discovery of the second wormhole and a possible way through, and he had been delighted to see the old spark dancing in her eyes.

Then Hern had declared that there was no way the runabout had survived, that no sign of it had been found on his side of the breach and she had abandoned Ops before he could stop her.

With a silent prayer to the Prophets that he wasn't going to lose her again, he stepped into the room and said, "Computer, lights."

She was sitting cross legged on her sofa with a sad smile on her face and a glass of something lethal-looking in her hand.

She nodded to him, "Captain."

"Dax?"

She stretched forward and placed the glass on the coffee table, "Don't look so worried, Benjamin."

"Do I have reason to look worried?"

Jadzia smiled and shook her head, "No." She looked at the glass, "Just saying goodbye."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off, anticipating a pep talk of some fashion and not quite sure whether she could face one.

She stretched her long legs and slid from the sofa, "So how are our new guests?"

He smiled, "Angry."

"Angry?"

"I've had them placed in a holding cell."

A frown, "Why?"

"I'll tell you on the way to docking bay 5. Get your shoes."

She reached behind the sofa and tugged on her boots, scowling up at him in mock annoyance, "Benjamin, you're being deliberately secretive."

* * *

He had insisted on walking all the way to the docking ring, breaking the news of Hern's deception to her on the way.

By the time they arrived she was grinning from ear to ear like the proverbial Cheshire Cat.

They stopped at the airlock and he gazed intently at her, "So there you have it. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you closer, Old Man."

She shook her head, "No you're not."

"I…"

The hand on his arm belonged to Jadzia, but the voice was all Dax.All maternal/paternal concern and wisdom as she looked into his soul with ageless eyes, "Benjamin, I was way out of line. I gave you little choice and if you had listened to me with the evidence I put before you, you would not be the Captain you are." She gave his arm a squeeze and smiled, "And you _know_ that."

This was more like it.This was the Dax he had loved and relied on for more years than he cared to admit.

He drew her into a tight hug, "I'm just sorry we had to disagree over something this important."

"Apology accepted." She pulled away, "Now what do you want me to do?"

He thought back to Hern and his expression of smug arrogance.

As much as he would like to knock him from here to kingdom come until he gave them the answers they needed, he knew he couldn't do so.

They needed an ace in the hole, something to tide them over, "The Merchants aren't being very forthcoming with information. I need you to go over that ship and work out how to activate this breach they mentioned."

She nodded, "I'd been thinking about that already. I'm still convinced that the crystals Andrews confiscated from Quark are the key. I'll conduct a scan of the ship and see if they have any on board." A shrug, "It'll give us a springboard to start from."

He patted her arm and turned away to let her work, "Keep me informed, Old Man."

She entered the ship and took a quick look around before calling, "Computer, scan the vessel at docking port 5 for traces of the compound stored in file Dax-alpha-1-8-7."

The computer chirruped in response and she waited patiently until it announced, "Compound is present on the vessel."

Jadzia let a delighted grin ignite across her face, "I told you."

_"What did you tell me?"_

"We're going to get them back."

Curzon chuckled softly.

* * *

Nearly there! Thanks for sticking with me. All comments eagerly received! 


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

With a grunt of pain, Marius clamped his eyes shut against the glaring light, pushed himself up off the bed and stood up.

A wave of dizziness rocked him hard, but he kept his feet and slowly opened his eyes.

He had expected to wake up in the after life.

The wound inflicted by the deviant had been deep and the blood loss extensive and as consciousness faded he had made his peace with the Creator.

The sight that greeted him, though, was not the afterlife - at least not the afterlife he had been raised to expect.

He was in a bright white room with windows set into each wall looking out onto corridors with no end.

The bed he was now standing next to was softer than any he had slept on before and the room was littered with technological miracles which only the Merchants could possibly have created.

He took a deep breath as he allowed his eyes to travel over each and every piece of equipment.

A niggling ache reminded him of his wound and he lifted the hem of his tunic to take a look at his side. It was swathed in heavy bandages and was tender to the touch, but there was no blood and he could move with little discomfort.

He was alive.

He sat down heavily on the bed and held his head in his hands, "Sweet Creator."

A voice behind him made him jump, "Hello, Marius, " and he turned to find an old man smiling down at him.

Dressed in beautiful flowing robes of a white material that matched his timeless hair, he could only be a Merchant and Marius fell to his knees with a hiss, "Lord…"

The old man frowned, "Oh, please don't kneel, young man, it puts a terrible strain on my neck having to stare down at you all the time."

Marius got slowly to his feet, his wide eyes never leaving the man's face, "Forgive me."

The Merchant nodded and reached into his robe, pulling a stubby metal device from the folds and pressing it to the overseer's neck. It beeped loudly and Marius jumped back with a yell of alarm, "What…?"

There was an exaggerated sigh, "Come now, you have long been aware of the wonders we create."

Marius stood his ground, despising the fear which had flooded his face, hating the fact that he had no control over his situation.

Inside the walls of Caspii, his word was law - he could do anything he chose and no-one would dare question him.

Here, he was frightened as a child.

He swallowed hard and held his head high, "You took me by surprise. I do not fear you."

The old man chuckled, "I'm pleased to hear it." He studied the device closely and nodded in satisfaction, "You heal very quickly, young man. I'm actually impressed."

Marius allowed his hand to touch the bandages swaddling his side.

Little pain and no blood, though he could almost feel the chill of metal as it tore into his flesh, could almost see the hate in the eyes of the deviant as she let his blood soak her hand.

He closed his eyes, "I should be dead."

There was a rude snort and he looked at his companion, "Believe me, we considered letting you die. Your incompetence has scaled new heights."

He should have known.

Despite his innocuous, grandfatherly appearance, this man was a Merchant and thought nothing of the people outside of the palace. Less than nothing.

His wounds had been tended, his health restored and he was fleetingly grateful even as the familiar gut wrenching nerves kicked in as he faced his superior, "I can explain…"

The man didn't even look at him as he returned the instrument to his hidden pocket, "I'm sure you can," his tone was calm, pleasant, somewhat like a parent explaining to a child why an upcoming punishment was necessary and better for all in the long run, "but you'll explain to Taren, not to me."

Marius blanched, "The High Lord?"

"That's right."

He backed away a little too rapidly and collided with the bed, scrambling behind it with graceless haste.

Had any of the inmates of Caspii been watching, they would have felt a deep satisfaction that the bully who had made their lives hell for so long was reacting so badly to his own personal demons, "I can't speak to the High Lord - he'll kill me."

The old man rounded the bed and took him gently by the arm, his grip, Marius found, completely unbreakable.

He led the overseer to the door and smiled at him, "If he wanted you dead, we would not be speaking now. Come. They're waiting for you."

* * *

Taren, The High Lord of the Merchants, uncurled his slender form from its almost foetal sleeping position and stretched luxuriantly along the _chaise longue_ with an exaggerated yawn. 

In his youth, he had been considered exceptionally handsome - a beautiful prize often sought after by the young women of his home world - but time and the elements had been harsh.

As he entered his forties his thinning hair had taken on flecks of grey; not distinguished grey as so many men wore with pride, but patchy old man grey.

His wife had died some years ago and now even the peasant women of this backward world only came to him for the riches he had to offer.

He was a prematurely old man whose body wanted nothing more than to sleep its remaining years away in comfort.

Not that Taren's pride would admit it - even to himself.

As Merchants went, he was almost laid back. He rarely met any of the indigenous population, never went to the Arena for the games and left most of the political decisions to his aides.

He allowed fear of his name to spread and fester, just as fear of his father and grandfather had kept the populace in line.

He was a figurehead. Last in a long line of figureheads who may have once had some real power, though few could remember why it was relinquished.

With no legitimate heir to the title, the post of High Lord would become one of rank and not birth.

This fact bothered Taren more than anyone thought and he planned to rectify matters as soon as possible. If things went well…

Sliding off the couch, he left his chamber and walked the corridor to his office.

Had someone from twenty-first century Earth been present, they would have commented that the room looked like a strange mixture of Ancient Greek luxury and the air traffic control HQ at Gatwick airport.

The centre was dominated by a huge bank of consoles and a single oversized radar screen, the green lights and spinning sensors bleeping quietly to themselves.

The rest of the room was all spacious opulence; low seats overlooking the vast windows and the grounds beyond - the forest edging up almost cautiously to the gates.

Fans and tapestries adorned the walls as ivy-like plants snaked to the ceiling, rooting themselves in every nook they could find. The floors were of bare stone, decorative rugs scattered here and there.

At the console sat another figure, an almost young man, his face creased in a permanent frown as he studied the radar closely, taking notes on a pad of paper before him.

As Taren entered he leapt to his feet and bowed deeply, "Lord."

Taren waved him away with a click of the tongue, "As you were, Garus."

He stood at the man's shoulder and peered at the readings, "Are they on the move yet?"

"Oh, definitely." Garus frowned at the screen, "They worked it out very quickly. I didn't expect them for at least another hour."

"And you're certain they're coming here?"

He nodded absently, scribbling furiously, as the bleep on the radar moved another inch forward, "I'd say there's nowhere else for them to go."

Taren wandered across the room and plucked a grape from one of the many overflowing fruit bowls dotted around the place, "Finally. And what about the craft?"

"I had it moved to the hanger. It's in a bit of a mess."

The High Lord shrugged, "I'm sure our visitors will be able to show us how to effect repairs."

Garus paused, chewing the end of his pencil in thoughtful consideration as he leant back in his chair and looked directly at Taren for the first time, "Where do you think they came from, Lord?"

Taren popped another grape into his mouth, "I don't know, Garus, I really don't know. But they're alone and in possession of knowledge that could make us very rich indeed."

"What if they refuse to help?"

The High Lord almost laughed, "After spending time with that idiot Marius I would think they're eager to go home."

Garus nodded and leant towards the radar once more, "I suppose…" his console beeped and he frowned at the readout, "Speaking of which, Lord. He's on his way."

Without a word, Taren walked over to one of the many couches and stretched out across it with catlike grace, his flint grey eyes riveted on the door.

There was a cautious knock and he let out a harsh, "Enter!"

* * *

At the tone of the High Lord's voice, Marius almost fled, but his companion's grip was steady and he found himself propelled into the room and the door closing behind him. 

He had never been allowed near this part of the palace before, but his brain refused to allow him the luxury of taking in details as his superstitious eyes fell on Taren and a myriad horror stories from childhood nightmares crowded in on him.

He executed a painful bow, his hand clamped to his aching side, "My Lord."

Taren allowed a scowl to creep across his face as he looked the man up and down, "Are you a complete idiot, Marius?"

The overseer swallowed, unsure what to say and Taren slid off the couch and walked over to him, towering above the smaller man, "Caspii has been running since before the town was built and never - _never_ - has there been a fiasco of this scale. Prisoners do _not_ escape from Caspii. Prisoners do _not riot_ in Caspii. It is _your_ job to see that there is order."

He thrust his face into Marius's with a growl, "Isn't it?"

Marius pulled himself up to his full height. If he was to die, he would not go out whimpering, "Lord, the deviant…"

Taren snorted, "Oh, yes. The deviant."

He returned to the couch and lay down again, pulling another grape from the bunch and examining it closely, "Think back, Marius. Think back to the day the deviant and her friend arrived at Caspii."

He nibbled at the fruit before swallowing it whole, "Do you remember what you were told when we sent them to you?"

Marius nodded, "You wanted them broken."

"Exactly. We wanted them broken."

He picked up a goblet of wine and drained it, "Whittled down. Defenceless."

And hurled the empty cup at Marius, who only just ducked in time, the few remaining droplets of red liquid shattering against his skin like drops of blood, "We did _not_ want them executed at dawn! What the _hell_ did you think you were doing?"

Marius held his ground with great difficulty, "I apologise, Lord, but the deviant made things difficult. Refusing to kill an opponent in the Arena…her attitude…I was in danger of losing face…"

"And instead of that you almost lose your life and I am forced to cull virtually every inmate."

"I…"

Taren slid off the couch again and walked to the window, gazing out on the forest, "You lost your temper, Marius. That's all there is to it."

"Yes, sir."

He turned and smiled, "I should have you killed."

The overseer said nothing. The High Lord was well known for his fondness of games - his delight in making opponent and colleagues alike squirm before him as they waited to see which way his seesaw temper would fall.

He stood now, with his head bowed, waiting for the axe to fall.

A knock at the door broke the moment and he let out a sigh of relief.

A hassled looking woman entered, her viridian robes dusting the floor as she bowed low before Taren and handed him a wad of papers.

He tossed them to the waiting Garus without even glancing at them and looked down his nose at her, "Well?"

She stared right back at him, "The alien vessel has been taken to the main hanger and we've been over it several times."

She shook her head, "Nothing. _Our_ computers don't understand _their_ computers and I have no idea whether they are anywhere near compatible."

She retrieved the papers from Garus and tucked them under her arm, "If we are to make any headway, we need help."

Taren waved her away and she left without preamble as the High Lord turned his gaze back to Marius, "_Now _do you understand? You were about to kill one of the only people who can tell us how that vessel operates. Do you have any _idea_ how advanced their technology is?"

Marius shifted from foot to foot as the wound in his side began to throb, "I had no idea they were this important.

"Obviously!"

Garus gave a discreet cough, "Lord, the transport…"

Taren nodded and stepped closer to the overseer, "You've served us well over the years, Marius, so I'll give you a chance to redeem yourself."

Marius straightened, "Lord?"

Garus tapped the radar, "That dot is a troop transport which your deviant and her friends have stolen."

Marius squinted at the screen, only vaguely understanding what he was looking at, "They're heading this way? Are they mad?"

Taren snorted, "Hardly! They want to go home. Because of your incompetence they know that there are people of intelligence in the region. They'll try to bargain for passage home."

"What do you want me to do?"

Taren shrugged as if bored, "They need to know who is in charge here. Take twenty men and stop the transport. Bring every one on it to me."

Marius smiled, the light of battle igniting in his eyes, "What if they cause trouble?"

Taren stood in front of him and glowered, "I want the deviant and her friend alive. Do you understand?"

Marius nodded and scowled, "Yes, Lord."

He turned to leave, but Taren seized his arm and said, "Alive, Marius. Do try and contain your enthusiasm this once."

The overseer bowed deeply, his pain filled breath hissing through his teeth and left the room.

* * *

They had come across a primitive road an hour ago and, at Jhemor's insistence, were following it towards the palace. 

At least that's what O'Brien hoped.

He had mastered the controls of the transport with relative ease, the hands on steering and lack of any kind of autopilot reminding him of the tractors he had tinkered with on his Grandparents farm back home in Ireland, and was now attempting to guide it along the somewhat bumpy track whilst keeping his bearings.

Quite frankly, he could have used little help from his companions.

He glared over his shoulder at the others.

Kira and Jhemor were sound asleep, the boy curled up against her side, his hand holding hers in a fierce grip.

Katalia's sleep, he suspected, was more fever induced. She was slumped in one of the seats, her shattered arm cradled to her chest, a sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead.

O'Brien hoped the Merchant's had some decent doctors. Words like gangrene and septicaemia kept wandering across his mind and he was becoming afraid that she wouldn't last much longer.

Lars and Odo were wide awake, chatting in animated whispers even as the Constable kept watch out of the back window in case any of the soldiers should come looking for their missing transport.

O'Brien smiled to himself, unused to seeing the shapeshifter so at ease with a virtual stranger.

A persistent bleep from the panel in front of him caught his attention and he scanned a practised eye over a somewhat primitive radar detection unit.

There was something on the road ahead of them.

He eased the transport down to a crawl and called loudly, "We've got company."

By the time everyone was awake and alert, they had rounded a bend in the track and come face to face with a welcoming committee.

Three transports were blocking the track, and he counted twenty men with disruptors all pointed in their direction.

He pulled the vehicle to a halt and scowled as he saw Marius limp to the front of the crowd and smile in an all too familiar manner.

Kira gritted her teeth and let out a low breath, "Doesn't he know when to quit?"

Odo let out a low growl behind her, "Apparently not. What do you think he wants?"

She glared out towards the man she hated most in the universe, "Nothing pleasant."

"Do you think the Merchants sent him?"

She shrugged, "Could be. Either way, we're in no condition to fight."

O'Brien glanced at her, "Are you saying we surrender?"

"For the moment." She looked Odo up and down, "I suggest you make yourself less conspicuous, Constable. It may be wiser to keep an ace or two up our sleeves."

Odo nodded, thought for a second then melted to the floor in a cascade of amber before solidifying as a rather plain belt which O'Brien picked up and strapped to his waist, "Time to face the music."

One by one they left the transport and waited as Marius and his troops walked cautiously towards them.

* * *

Compared to the primitive, inhospitable prison, the Merchant's palace more than lived up to its name. 

Whereas Caspii had been a hotchpotch of roughly hewn stones held together by age and the elements, rearing up like a lumbering beast about to strike, the palace was _elegant. _

It was smooth to Caspii's rough cragginess, slightly off white to the prison's heavy browns.

The walls were seamless, sweeping upwards and curving slightly outwards like a porcelain vase, peaking at a rim which no doubt hid battlements a-plenty.

The windows were _real_, not jagged gashes added as an afterthought and, as far as the fugitives could see, they even contained glass.

The grounds through which they were led were immaculate, every plant and tree pruned to perfection as they shadowed ornamental fountains which glittered like diamond showers as they passed.

They mounted a row of wide steps leading to the doors which were opened by silent footmen and closed behind them with a gentle thud.

Once inside, they were led at gun point through the magnificent hallways, passed riches the likes of which they had never seen before. None of the guards spoke a word and even Marius, who revelled in the sound of his own voice, steadfastly refused to answer any of their questions.

The only sound was the tick-tacking of heavy boots drowning out the slapping of bare feet on the dappled marble floors.

Taren watched them approach on a tiny monitor, squinting through dulled green eyes as he cursed the ravages of impending age.

It was not so long ago that he would have been able to make out the image clearly from the other side of the room.

Marius was leading the way, his once arrogant stride slowed by the pressure of his wound.

The man behind him had a mess of blond curls plastered to his face and an annoyed scowl on his face.

There was a woman with a bloody mess for an arm being supported by the farmer.

Behind them came the deviant.

He had to squint harder to make out the delicate mutation on the bridge of her nose. Such a shame. Take away the bruises and the ridges and she would be almost pretty.

He found it hard to believe that she possessed the will to drive Marius to such distraction.

He watched as she slowed her pace to wrap an arm around the shoulders of the last member of the party, a young boy, and whispered something to him, urging him on.

Taren paused and peered closer, his eyes widening, "Sweet, Creator…"

Garus, engrossed in his work, looked up, "Lord?"

Taren shook his head slowly, his eyes glued to the monitor, "…nothing…"

* * *

Marius ordered the little party to a halt outside a rather grandly designed door and the prisoners waited at gun point as he knocked cautiously and ducked inside. 

Kira scanned the halls around them, searching for any possible escape routes, their path to the outside easily memorised.

They had hardly seen another soul on the long walk through the palace and she was pretty sure that security in the grounds was minimal.

If they could just lose their silent shadows…

Just as she looked across at O'Brien, the door re-opened and Marius came back out and snapped orders to the guards, "Take him, him and her to quarters", he barked, pointing at Lars, Katalia and Jhemor.

The guards nodded and hustled the trio away, having to prise Jhemor's hand from Kira's as the boy hung on for dear life, "Major Lady!"

Kira took an instinctive step after him and Marius took hold of her arm and tugged her back.

She froze, a chill running up her spine as he grinned at her, allowing his rough fingers to caress her forearm in an obscene massage, "Not you, deviant."

Without another word, he ushered them into the room and closed the door behind them, taking up a sentry position to watch what unfolded.

Kira and O'Brien barely had time to take in their surroundings before a middle aged Merchant with greying hair and flowing robes bore down on them with the falsest of false smiles, "Welcome, welcome!"

He guided the startled duo to a luxuriant couch surrounded by small tables laden with food and wine.

Kira and O'Brien sat slowly, relishing in the softness of the seat as the sank gently into it's cushions.

The Merchant poured each of them a drink and stepped back with a little bow, "My name is Taren."

They looked at him, the drinks untouched.

Not used to being left unacknowledged, Taren frowned and tried again, "High Lord of the Merchant Empire."

Kira placed her goblet very carefully on the nearest table and stood up, drawing herself up to her full height, her face emotionless, "My name is Major Kira Nerys, " she paused, "Political prisoner of Caspii."

Taren's frown deepened as he tried to work out whether or not she was mocking him, turning now to O'Brien, "And you are…?"

O'Brien didn't stand and didn't smile, "Miles O'Brien. Pleased to meet you, I'm sure."

The Merchant smiled broadly, "Yes, yes, pleased to meet you."

He stepped forward and returned the goblet to Kira's hand, "Please accept the drink. I know you haven't been eating too well."

She directed a scowl at Marius, "And who's fault is that?"

But she took the goblet and stared at the tempting liquid sloshing around inside.

Worf would have growled something about not drinking with an enemy and poured the wine onto the floor. Very Klingon. Very noble.

But she was not Klingon, her body ached and she was very _very_ thirsty.

She closed her eyes and took a long swig of the wine, sighing deeply as it hit her empty stomach.

O'Brien watched her and downed his drink in one gulp.

Taren was delighted, "See? It's not so hard to be friendly, is it?"

Kira eyed him carefully, "Friendly?"

"Yes. I just want us to get along."

She almost laughed, but no longer seemed to know how as she waved an arm at Marius, "For Prophet's know how long this animal has been trying to kill us and now you expect us to shake hands and be friends? You'll forgive me if I ask what the catch is."

Taren shook his head sadly, for all the world appearing distressed that she could have misunderstood his kindness, "There's no catch, Major. Major…Is that a military title?"

"Yes."

"Yes, you strike me as the type. There really is no catch, Major. "

He had stepped too far into her personal space and she backed away, her legs bumping into the couch.

O'Brien stood up, allowing a somewhat protective hand to rest on the small of her back as the Merchant continued, "I believe that we could all be of great help to each other."

"What do you mean?"

He smiled, "I know you're not of this world."

O'Brien laughed, "That's ridiculous."

When Taren looked pointedly at Kira's nose, the Irishman shrugged, "It's a birth defect. All her life she's…"

The Merchant sighed in exasperation, "Enough! We have your ship."

Kira blinked, "I don't know what you mean."

"Yes you do. I know you crash landed not far from Caspii. I know you saved Jhemor from the thugs we call prison guards and I know you don't possess the means to repair your ship and get home. That, " he smiled again, "is where I can help you."

They looked at each other and O'Brien shrugged, "We're listening."

Taren rubbed his hands together, "My technicians have been over and over your ship, but your computers and ours don't appear to be compatible. If _you_ would be willing to help us sort out this little problem, _we_ would be willing to help you repair it and go home."

They looked at each other again, an unspoken question passing between them.

It was Kira who spoke and her voice was bitter as her eyes bore into the silent overseer as he stood at the door, "If you are so keen on getting us home, why was _he_ so keen on doing us harm?"

Taren glared at Marius and approached Kira.

She had nowhere to run so could do nothing to prevent him placing an arm across her shoulders.

He seemed not to notice when she stiffened, and led her towards the window, his voice low, "Marius is an idiot. He doesn't recognise a business opportunity when he sees it."

She shook him off and backed away, "And you do."

He nodded, "I'm a Merchant. Business is my life."

"You sound like a Ferengi."

"Excuse me?"

She scowled, "No."

Recognising her stubborn distrust and realising she would not just cave in at the promise of something to eat and drink, he gave an exasperated sigh, "Major, please, I am offering the hand of friendship. Allow me to make amends."

She was no longer willing to listen, "Tell us where our friends are."

"They are resting."

"Why should I believe you?"

He spread his hands, "Because I have no reason to harm them."

She let her hands move to her face, drawing his attention to the cuts and bruises marring her features, "You'll forgive me if I don't find that a very reassuring answer."

Taren sighed and spun away from her, addressing Marius, "Take them to their quarters. Re-unite them with their friends."

"At once, Lord." Marius bowed and opened the door, stepping aside to allow Kira and O'Brien through.

As they left, Taren called, "We'll speak again when you are fully rested, Major. I'm sure that, given time, you'll come to see the benefits of friendship."

* * *

Jhemor was first to greet them as Marius pushed them through yet another overly decorative door. 

The boy threw himself at Kira with a squeal of delight, "Major Lady! You're not eaten, no you're not!"

She disentangled herself from his embrace with a smile, "Eaten?"

He nodded, "_Everyone_ knows that Merchants _eat_ their prisoners, yes they do."

O'Brien ruffled his hair, "Well, we're not eaten Jhemor," he looked around the room, "Surprised - not eaten."

He removed his belt and dropped it on the floor where it dissolved into an amber puddle before reforming in the familiar grim visage of Odo.

They stood in silence for a while as they took in the room.

It was luxuriant in the extreme, the walls and floors thick with rugs and tapestries, the furniture exquisitely carved and the tables laden with refreshments.

A number of doors led off to sleeping areas - one for each person - whilst fresh clothes and, for the first time in far too long, shoes awaited them in the closets.

O'Brien gave a low whistle as he took a huge mouthful of an unknown fruit, "Well, if this is a trap, it's the nicest one I've ever fallen for."

Lars came over to stand next to him, "Who says it's a trap?"

O'Brien looked at him, "Experience."

Lars laughed as he poured himself a large goblet of wine, "They've been nothing but hospitable to us since we arrived. If you look outside, you'll see no guards on the door. We're free to roam. Perhaps this has all been some huge misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding..!"

Noticing the Chief's face reddening with fury, Odo stepped between the two men, "Take it easy, Chief."

O'Brien spun round to him, "I'd tell your friend to think before he speaks. He wasn't at Caspii - _we _were…"

A groan of pain curtailed the argument and they turned to see Kira kneeling next to one of the couches, feeding water to the rapidly weakening Katalia as Jhemor hovered in the background.

The big woman had lost a lot of blood, her pallor pasty, her eyes glazed.

Kira whispered something to Jhemor and the boy ran into one of the other rooms, returning with a sheet which the Bajoran began to tear into strips.

Soaking them in water she dabbed at the ruined arm, knowing she could do little to help.

Katalia gasped in pain and placed her good hand on Kira's arm, "I'm sorry to…to let you down…Deviant…the pain…"

"Ssh, it's all right. Rest."

She shook her head, her eyes closing, "I should…be able to…help…"

Kira wrapped another strip around the wound in a makeshift bandage, "Help when you're well."

"No….listen…"

"I'm listening."

Katalia's usually powerful voice was barely more than a whisper as she finally gave in to sleep, "Don't…trust them…Don't _ever_…trust them…"

Her strength gave out with a sigh and Kira stood up, covering her with a blanket, "I won't."

As she turned away, Jhemor tugged on her arm, "Is she dead, Major Lady?"

"No, Jhemor, she's not dead. But she needs a lot of rest so it's best we don't disturb her."

She watched as the boy nodded and yawned, "Why don't you go and get some sleep?"

"Okay." Rubbing his eyes, he disappeared into one of the bedrooms.

Lars put down his goblet, "I think I'll catch some rest myself."

He nodded to O'Brien and chose one of the other rooms, closing the door behind him.

The three officers were left alone for the first time in the silent room, the only sound being the unsteady breathing of the sleeping Katalia.

Odo took a moment to take a proper look at his crew mates for the first time since they had broken out of the prison.

He knew that they had lived through an horrific experience, though neither of them had volunteered details.

He would not press them, but, as he watched Kira lower her battered body onto one of the couches with an exhausted sigh, he promised himself that he would be there for them whenever they chose to talk.

For now, though, there were things to do.

He crossed to the Major and offered her a plate of food, "Can we be sure they have no idea I'm here?"

She took the plate with a bright smile, "Positive. Taren told us about the runabout almost immediately. I think he likes to brag when he's got one up on an opponent. He'd have mentioned _you_ straight away."

"Well, in that case I shall go and explore. I'll be back in a couple of hours."

"Be careful."

He nodded, "Always," and dissolved into an air vent.

O'Brien joined her sitting on the couch and they shared the plate of food.

He took a bite out of what looked like a chicken leg, but tasted rather sweet, "Do you trust Taren?"

"Not in the slightest."

"What does he want?"

Kira sighed, "I have no idea, Chief," she looked up at him with sad eyes, "but did you notice how he seems to be on first name turns with Jhemor?"

He had wondered whether that had struck home, "Yes, I did. If we were betrayed from the inside, do you think..?"

She sprang to her feet, shaking her head, "No! No, he wouldn't do that. He wouldn't do that…"

"How can we be sure?"

She tried to take a calming breath, a trick she had mastered from infinite discussions with Sisko at his most stubborn, "He's just a kid, Miles. If we hadn't found him when we did, those thugs would have killed him."

O'Brien set the plate on the table and stood up, "Would they? Isn't it something of a coincidence that we just happened to bring the ship down there?"

"Maybe…"

"And if they were so set on killing him, why are we all still alive? Why did they just take us to the prison?"

She closed her eyes, "I don't know. Prophets, I'm tired"

He reached out and drew her into a hug, hurt when she almost pulled away before deciding he was safe and settling her head against his chest with a sigh.

He stopped short of stroking her hair, "Look, let's get some sleep. We can't think straight when we're out on our feet."

She pushed herself away from him and nodded, "Sleep well, Chief."

"You too, Major."

They closed their bedroom doors behind them and all was quiet.

* * *

The scream woke Kira from her most relaxing sleep in days and she staggered bleary eyed to the door of her room, pulling a blanket round her shoulders. 

All was quiet.

Assuming she had been dreaming, she turned to go back to bed when it happened again. A muffled, sobbing cry from Jhemor's room. P

ushing open his door she peered inside.

The boy was in fitful, restless sleep on the bed, his face creased in a permanent frown.

She paused. What if O'Brien was right? What if Jhemor had been the one who betrayed the prisoners? It would explain how Taren knew his name without ever having met him. What if..?

Jhemor flipped over in his sleep and another cry escaped his lips.

Pushing her doubts aside, Kira crossed the room and lay down next to him, wrapping the blanket around them both as she shushed him and banished his nightmares.

Within minutes, they were both asleep and the apartment was quiet once more.

Unseen, somebody walked up to Jhemor's room, watched the sleeping pair for a moment then closed the door.

* * *

The palace was vast, even more so from the confines of the miles of air vents that criss-crossed its length and breadth and Odo had made little headway in his explorations. 

He had sped through the dusty channels, allowing his substance to stream along the walls, feeling for vents and doors and peering through each as he passed. There was very little to see.

That the Merchants were the most material race he had come across was obvious after only a few rooms.

They seemed to treasure possessions even more than the Ferengi, their rooms and halls lavishly decorated with precious metals and works of art.

The people themselves were shiftless and idle with servants from the outside world doing most of the work for none of the pay.

He despised them.

Turning a corner he could suddenly hear the sound of metal on metal and the steady buzz of power tools.

He peered through the nearest vent and found himself looking down on the battered wreck of the Amazon.

He was no engineer, but Odo could not see the runabout flying again, no matter how many people swarmed all over it - and right now there were a _lot_ of people in the hanger.

He spotted Marius standing to the rear of the craft, peering in as technicians ran to and fro and generally getting in everyone's way.

The hanger door opened and Taren walked in, beckoning the overseer to a quiet corner. Odo slid on to the next vent and listened.

Taren nodded towards the door, "They're sleeping."

"So what should we do, Lord?"

Taren looked down his nose at the man, "We give them a few more minutes to recover and then we bring them here and put them to work, of course."

Marius shook his head, "Forgive me, Lord, but the deviant said…"

"I _know_ what she said, Marius, but _I_ have said that she will work."

He raised his hands in supplication, trying to get his point across without stepping out of line, "She's a trouble maker, Lord, they both are. They won't fall in line. Let me show them who's in charge. A few minutes…"

Taren snorted and turned away in disgust, "Your heavy handed approach has already put up walls between them and us. If violence didn't break them before, why would it work now?"

Marius almost growled, hating the way his hands had been tied; hating the way he had been reduced to little more than a lackey in the blink of an eye.

Just one more minute alone with the deviant and he could work off a lot of the tension in his bones.

But he knew it was not to be, so he opted for the next best thing, "Fine. Then give me Jhemor. They seem very protective of him. If _he_ were in danger…"

Taren spun on him, eyes blazing, "NO!"

The noise in the hanger stopped as if turned off at the mains as everyone looked at the High Lord.

He glared them back to work and took hold of the overseer's arm, "We'll give them one chance to do as they are told. Bring them here. Let's see what they have to say."

"And if they refuse?"

He was losing patience, "They won't refuse. They need to know where they stand as much as we do."

He released the arm and watched as the overseer headed for the door, "And Marius..?"

He stopped and turned, "Lord?"

Taren took a slow walk towards him, "I've been aware of your sadistic nature for a number of years, but I let it slide because you ran that prison so well, but know this: if you harm one hair on that boy's head I will kill you with my own hands."

Marius faltered, "But, Lord, he's nothing…he's a half wit…"

He stopped just inches from the smaller man and glared at him, "He was more the day he was born than you will _ever_ be and you will treat him with respect. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Lord." With a deep bow, Marius left the hanger as Taren watched the technicians work, his face as black as thunder.

_Curiouser and curiouser_, thought Odo as he dissolved like quick silver and sped back towards the apartment.

* * *

He arrived well ahead of Marius and woke the sleeping occupants as quickly as he could, explaining the eavesdropped conversation to Kira and O'Brien before becoming a vase in the corner. 

When the overseer burst through the door he was greeted not with bleary confusion but smug superiority as Kira and O'Brien stood and regarded him with disdain.

O'Brien all but pushed past him, "I assume we're wanted."

Marius glowered at him, "You're to go to the hanger."

He put out an arm to stop Jhemor from leaving with Kira but she stood her ground and crossed her arms, "He stays with me or I don't go."

The overseer looked as though he would dearly love to teach her some respect, but stood aside and let the trio pass.

The door closed leaving Lars looking down on the sleeping Katalia, "I'll stay here, then", he called to no-one in particular.

* * *

The technicians had gone by the time they arrived and only Taren was there to greet them, "Ah, Major Kira Nerys and Miles O'Brien, how nice of you to join me." 

"Like we had a choice, " muttered O'Brien as he climbed into the back of the runabout, Kira and Jhemor behind him.

Taren and Marius made to follow but she stopped them with a look, "Nothing is agreed yet, _Lord_, so I'll thank you to stay out there."

He smiled at her, "Do I take it you are admitting to ownership of this vessel?"

Kira glared at him, "Do we play games or do we conduct business?"

Taren's unpleasant smile deepened as he stepped down from the runabout, pulling Marius with him, "As you wish. You have one hour. There are tools at your disposal."

As it turned out, the hour proved very productive.

As Jhemor sat quietly near the door, trying to keep out of the way as the Major Lady and Mr 'Brien made the metal monster work, O'Brien eventually managed to coax the computer into some semblance of life and they began to run through their options.

Taren's technicians had managed to effect various repairs, which was worrying.

If they could get this far with no instruction, how well would they do with a Starfleet engineer to help them. The hoped for incompetence was sadly lacking.

Kira leant back and rubbed her eyes, "Okay, Chief, what can you tell me?"

He shrugged, "Well, voice recognition is down. Whatever we do, we'll have to do manually."

Kira gave a short nod and began hitting keys on the panel in front of her as O'Brien watched, his eyes widening, "What are you doing?"

She didn't look at him, "Activating the self destruct. We have to take the runabout out of the equation."

"If we do that, we lose our last chance to get home."

She paused and took a deep breath, "I know," then continued her work at the panel.

Jhemor leant forward as O'Brien clenched his fists, his voice an almost whisper, "Major, the explosion would take out half the complex. These people have built a completely different civilisation under this roof. It's like two separate worlds with a wall in between. What if they can't survive outside."

She turned from the panel and glared at him, the bruises making her eyes as dark as coals, burning in her face, "Chief, we can't give them Starfleet technology."

He matched her glare for glare as Jhemor whimpered and backed away, "I agree with you, Major. But we can't deny them their own technology either. They'd be stranded here. Helpless. It goes against the Prime Directive…"

Kira's fists slammed into the console, "But they're exploiting the entire planet. We can't give them another weapon to use against these people."

O'Brien watched her for a full minute as she rubbed her sore hands and brought herself under control.

When he spoke, his voice was soft and he placed a hand on her arm, "It's not up to us to interfere."

She looked at him, "We already have interfered, just by crashing here."

"That's not the way it works…"

She jabbed a finger towards the runabout window and the distant figures of Taren and Marius as they waited impatiently in the hanger, "Dammit, Chief, the runabout is useless unless _they_ help us fix it."

He made a rude noise of disbelief, "I'm not letting them near it."

"Exactly. We have no choice. Given time, they're bound to work out the basic principles. We have to activate the self destruct."

Her hand moved towards a large red button, but O'Brien restrained her, his grip brooking no argument, "There are a lot of innocent people here. I don't know about you, but Prime Directive or no - I cannot commit cold blooded murder."

For a moment it looked as though she would finish the sequence with or without his approval and Jhemor cowered further away as they attempted to stare one another into submission.

Eventually, though, she nodded and pulled away, "Then it looks as though we're stuck at an impasse."

The two of them abandoned their work and left the runabout, leaving Jhemor to sit and ponder what he had just heard, before he too climbed out of the ship and trotted across the hanger to join his friends.

Kira stood and faced Taren as he bore down on her, his fake smile making her feel ill, "Well? Can we help each other?"

She shook her head, "I don't think so."

"You don't think…"

She turned and walked towards the door, O'Brien and Jhemor in her wake.

Taren blustered, his face reddening in fury, "I offered you a business deal, _Major_. And _no-one_ refuses to do business with the High Lord."

She didn't look back, "What are you going to do? You need us, Taren. You'll get your help when _we're_ ready and not before."

The trio left the hanger with Taren's parting words ringing in their ears, "I may need _you_, Major, but what about your friends. _They're_ expendable. Think of _that_."

O'Brien glanced at Kira as they walked down the hallway, "That was risky."

"I know, but it makes a change to be the one wielding the power."

He smiled, "How do you think he'll take it?"

Kira sighed heavily, long since tired of living on a constant knife edge and wishing for simpler things, "I'm sure we'll find out soon enough. Come on, Jhemor, let's get something to eat."

* * *

Marius had seen Taren annoyed before, had seen him sentence men to death simply because he was bored; but he had never seen him shaking with abject fury. 

Had never seen him reduced to virtual foot stamping with inbred temper.

Now, though, the High Lord was a shaking mass of clenched teeth and clenched fists as he watched the door close behind the deviant and her friends, "How dare she! How _dare_ she? I will _not_ be spoken to in that manner."

The overseer swallowed nervously, "I warned you she has no respect, Lord."

For a second Taren considered taking out his ire on his underling, but steadied himself as plans formulated in his mind, "Yes, you did, Marius."

"What now?"

"Whatever her faults we need the deviant alive, just as we need O'Brien."

He smiled at Marius, "I think we'll put your plan into action, overseer."

"Lord?"

"We'll fetch Jhemor. Give them something to think about."

Marius frowned, "But you said…"

Taren waved him away with an impatient snarl, "I said 'fetch' the boy, not maim him. We just let them _think_ that I have taken him for sport. They'll soon rethink their disobedience."

Marius nodded, "Let me arm myself and I'll take you to them."

He crossed to a locker against the wall and pulled out a disruptor rifle then, with a nod to Taren, led the way down the halls towards the apartment.

* * *

Odo was waiting for them when they returned and the three of them gathered in O'Brien's room to talk things through. 

It was agreed that they could not give the Merchants access to a higher technology, none of them being willing to jeopardise the people of this world any more than they already were.

It was also agreed that activating the self destruct whilst the runabout was still inside the hanger was unacceptable.

And each of them wondered briefly when they had abandoned the idea of returning home.

* * *

Taren's fury had not abated by the time they reached the apartment and slammed through the door, startling those within. 

In the blink of an eye he was across the room, Marius covering him with the rifle, and took Jhemor by the arm, "Come with me!"

Jhemor let out a cry of alarm and tried to pull away, his eyes pleading with the still seated Lars to help him.

Before the farmer could make a move, though, there was a blur of movement from the far couch as Katalia pushed herself up on her one good arm and threw herself at the High Lord with a shriek that may have been pain or may have been defiance.

She hit Taren square in the chest knocking him back against the wall, his grip on Jhemor broken.

Marius smiled and shot her down.

She was dead before she hit the floor and for a moment there was silence.

Jhemor's wail of distress rent the air as he saw yet another friend fall to the overseer.

Familiar tears began to race each other down his face as he launched himself at the detestable man and bore him to the ground, inadequate fists pummelling his face and chest.

Every instinct in Marius' body was screaming at him to snap the boy's neck, to put him down like the worthless vermin he was, but he knew that Taren's wrath was to be feared a lot more than a few minor bruises.

As one of the interior doors opened and the deviant came through, he covered his face with his hands and waited for everything to stop.

* * *

The discussions had trailed to an inconclusive halt when the sound of gunfire and screaming had sent Kira, O'Brien and Odo dashing from the Chief's room to the main apartment. 

The first thing they saw as the door opened was Taren struggling to rise, pushing Katalia's body from off his legs and wiping distastefully at the blood which had splashed on his robes.

There was Jhemor, perched atop Marius' chest pounding at his face for all he was worth.

Then there was Lars.

As the trio ground to a halt, the farmer got up from the couch with an annoyed frown and picked up Marius' fallen disruptor.

He primed the weapon with a flick of the wrist and pointed it at Kira's head, "Get off him, Jhemor."

The boy looked up and bit his lip, climbing off Marius when Lars wrapped an arm around the Bajoran's neck and almost tugged her off her feet, "Don't hurt her, Mr Lars. Please don't."

Marius got to his feet and stepped back to join the High Lord with a smug smile, "It seems there will be no more pretence, Lord."

"So it seems", Taren gazed closely at Odo, taking in for the first time the deviant face which he had known was present but had never seen, then nodded at the boy, "Jhemor, come here."

Jhemor crossed the floor, a picture in dejection and Taren led him from the room.

Marius nodded to Lars, "You know what to do" and closed the door behind him.

Once they were gone, Lars backed up against the door, keeping the trio well within his sights until O'Brien broke the silence, "It was _you_ who betrayed us."

The farmer nodded, "I did my job."

"But…"

Lars shook his head and looked at Odo, his face containing none of the smug superiority which was ever present in Marius.

His eyes were almost apologetic, "I meant everything I said, Odo. You saved my son's life and I will always be grateful, but the debt is more than paid and, well, this is business. I have a family to feed, my friend."

The Changeling growled, "I'm no friend of yours."

"That can't be helped. Now, all of you sit down on the couch."

They glanced at one another and Odo took a step away, before Lars raised the rifle higher, aiming steadily between O'Brien and Kira, "And don't try any of those fancy tricks, Odo. I may not be able to harm you, but I can harm _them_."

Odo stepped back and they all sat on the couch, "What happens now?"

Lars shrugged, "We wait here until you decide to help us with your ship. If I haven't sent word to Taren within the hour, Jhemor will die. Another hour and one of you three will die and so on and so on."

He shrugged again as if uncomfortable with the orders he had been given.

Odo glared at him with ice chip eyes, flashing a look which had reduced hardened criminals to babbling confessors, "I have to congratulate you, Lars. I have been a law enforcement officer for many years and I have _never_ been fooled this way before."

The farmer shook his head with a low chuckle, "Don't feel bad, my friend, I'm good."

He gave a snort of derision, "Do Rissa and the children know you sold out to the Merchants?"

"Rissa _is_ a Merchant. And the children will learn as they grow older."

Odo took a step towards his former friend and Lars covered him with the rifle as he walked, "And just what will they learn, Lars? How to treat people like animals? How to become devious and cruel? How to betray their fellow men for the sake of a profit?

"I didn't betray you, Odo. I risked everything to help you."

"And then you told Taren there was going to be a break out, didn't you. You _knew_ what Marius had in store for my friends and you _knew_ I wouldn't let anything happen to them, so you betrayed me to your masters like the slave you are."

For the first time, Lars' fingers twitched in anger, his face darkening, "I'm no slave, Odo."

If he had been concentrating harder on the job at hand and less on controlling his growing anger, the farmer would have noticed that the Changeling had been walking slowly round him, leading his aim away from Kira and O'Brien until they were standing behind him.

By the time he realised what Odo had done it was too late.

O'Brien clubbed him down with a water pitcher and watched him fall, bending to retrieve the fallen rifle, "He may not be a slave, Constable, but he's a damned lousy watchdog."

They left the room at a run.

* * *

Jhemor was used to being afraid. 

He had spent his whole life cowering from real and imagined fears, real and imagined people.

Walking down an endless hallway between two large men and wondering when they were going to kill him was almost run of the mill.

Almost.

He glanced sideways at Marius, remembering all the times the overseer had screamed at him, frightened him, slapped him.

He knew the man's habits from experience and had seen others take the brunt of a particularly violent temper.

He knotted his fingers together and bit his lip, "I don't like him," he whispered.

Taren looked down at him, unsure whether the boy had meant to speak, glanced quickly at Marius then placed a reassuring hand on Jhemor's shoulder, "He's nothing."

Jhemor hadn't really expected a response to his voiced fear and looked up into Taren's eyes, unsure by what he saw there.

The man wasn't shouting at him, though, so he stopped dead in his tracks and gave it another try, "I don't like him."

"You're dismissed, Marius."

The overseer gaped, "But, Lord…"

Taren glowered at him, his voice a hiss, "You think I need protecting from _him_? You insult me, overseer. Go!"

As Marius skulked off down the hallway, Jhemor looked up at his unexpected almost ally, "I want to go back to my room, yes I do."

The reply was instant, clipped, "I'm sorry, Jhemor, but I can't allow you to associate with that deviant."

Taren continued to walk down the hallway and Jhemor trotted after him, "Major Lady's not a deviant. She's my friend."

The High Lord raised a dismissive hand, "It's not appropriate."

"I don't know appropriate."

Taren stopped again and turned towards the boy, something almost like affection reflecting in his eyes.

He reached out and stroked a lock of the untamed ginger hair away from Jhemor's eyes and smiled, "I want better things for my son."

"Son?"

He nodded, "Yes."

Jhemor backed away, shaking his head.

Marius and his kind had taken great delight in telling him terrible stories just to watch him cry.

They had told him how his mother and father had abandoned him at the gates of Caspii because they wanted a _normal_ child.

Taren, it seemed, was cut from the same mould.

But this time he wasn't going to cry. He wasn't going to watch them laugh at him, "You say bad things to make me help you. I won't hear you."

He clamped his hands over his ears.

Taren pulled them away as gently as he could, "Jhemor, listen to me. You are my son and it's time for you to come home."

He shook him off with a wail, tears glistening in his eyes despite his best efforts to contain them, "You're a _liar_, yes you are. You leave me alone!"

And he turned and fled.

* * *

Taren found him sitting in the runabout in the hanger. 

The technicians and engineers had left and they were alone.

He pushed aside a detached piece of bulkhead as he entered the battered ship and saw Jhemor sitting in the only surviving seat, running his fingers over a button on the panel before him, his face an unreadable mask.

The High Lord's feet cracked through the debris on the ground as he crouched down behind the boy and, after a second's pause, placed a hand on his shoulder, "Jhemor…son…"

He didn't turn, "I'm not your son. You're a _bad bad_ man."

"I'm not, Jhemor. Believe me, I'm not."

He spun the chair round now and looked Taren in the eye, "Merchants hurted the Major Lady. Merchants hurted _lots_ of people. You're _bad_."

He shook his head, almost pleading with him, "Please, I would have given anything for you not to have to live through that. But when it became obvious that you were not…normal…Jhemor, you would have become High Lord after me, but no-one would have followed a half wit."

Jhemor spun round, his eyes blazing, not a tear in sight, "DON'T CALL ME THAT! I'm _not_ a half wit, no I'm not."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I know you're not a half wit, but I never had the chance to prove it to anyone. They wanted you killed, Jhemor. They wanted the bloodline cleansed. But I saved you, son."

Realisation dawned, "_You_ send me to Caspii?"

"Yes."

"_Why_? Caspii a _bad_ place."

"It was the only place I could guarantee your safety."

A lifetime of memories hurtled through his mind and he almost sneered at the man before him, "I wasn't safe…"

"Don't you understand, Jhemor? I made sure you never fought in the Arena. I made sure you always had enough food. I made sure they never punished you when you escaped. How do you think you survived this long?"

Jhemor's face crumpled in frustration, "I don't know."

Taren edged closer, "I have no heirs, son. Your mother is dead. I _need_ you. If you don't come back to me the crown will pass on to any person who can fight for it. It could go to some-one like _Marius_. He's a peasant, Jhemor. Do you want _your_ crown to go to a peasant?"

"I'm a peasant, too."

"No you're not. You're better than the peasants and the deviants. You're a Merchant, Jhemor. You're my son and I love you."

Jhemor smiled at him and turned back to the panel and pressed the red button.

The computer gave a half hearted chirrup and announced, "Self destruct engaged. Five minute countdown begins."

Taren gaped, "_Do you know what you've done_?"

The boy nodded, his green eyes laughing at his father, his freckled face split in a toothy grin, "I pushed the button."

The laughter faded from his eyes and he glared at the man crouching before him.

In his whole life, Jhemor had only ever found wonder in the world around him.

Sure, he had cried for the people who left his life in the Arena or at the point of an overseer's sword, but he had never really felt anger for their killers.

He was long since numb to it and knew deep down that it was a waste of energy.

Now, for the first time, he could feel fury coursing through his veins and spat hate into his words, "I'm _not_ a Merchant. I'm _not_ better than the peasants and the deviants. _I DON'T LOVE YOU_. Now you run or you go _die_."

He slipped past the wide eyed Merchant and sprinted for the door, colliding with Kira, O'Brien and Odo as they dashed in.

Kira steadied him on his feet, "Jhemor. Are you all right? What's wrong?"

He looked up at her, his eyes solemn, "I pushed the red button, Major Lady. Now you don't have to choose."

The three officers looked at each other before O'Brien bellowed, "Christ Almighty!"

Then the four of them ran through the halls towards the exit.

It was the only thing left to do.

* * *

Okay, eleven down, two to go!As usual, all comments are always gratefully received. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed - glad you're enjoying it!  



	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Hern, it seemed, disliked being locked up. Disliked it with a passionate intensity which belied his pompous appearance.

Jill Andrews had been watching him pace the length of the holding cell for almost two hours now,; his temper growing shorter and shorter with each passing moment.

His companion had long since given up trying to calm him, his ears still ringing from a shouted, "Silence!" as he had offered the Merchant a seat on the one and only bunk in the cell.

Andrews listened patiently as Hern once more offered her riches and lands if she would only let him go.

He was a powerful man he told her for the tenth time. She would do well to stay on his good side, he threatened again.

Jill simply raised an eyebrow and turned her attention back to the crime reports she had been working on.

When Sisko entered, she barely noticed.

Hern's exclamation, "Captain! Captain, we need to talk!" snapped her head up and she jumped to her feet and told him that all was well.

Without acknowledging the two prisoners, Sisko nodded to his Security Chief, "How have they been?"

"Noisy, but no trouble."

Hern called frantically, "You see, Captain, we're no trouble. No trouble at all. Is this incarceration really necessary?"

The Captain approached the forcefield and glared in at the two men, "Until I have my officers back, yes, it's necessary."

"But I haven't _seen_ your officers…"

The glare deepened and Hern had the good sense to back away, "..all right, all right. They may be alive, they may not. Our technology may be nothing compared to yours, but we are not primitives. We do know when a ship enters our space."

"So you _did_ see the Amazon?"

The Merchant's head fell, "Yes. But I swear to you, I saw nothing of your officers."

The Captains dark eyes were on fire with suppressed fury and he turned to leave. Hern's voice was a squeak as he called to his captor, "Captain…please..!"

Sisko face him again.

"I've told you all I know. That must be worth something…I have to get out of here…"

Sisko crossed back to the Merchant and sneered at him with disdain, "So you expect me to simply let you go?"

Hern held out his hands, pleading, "Please, Captain, I'm a businessman, not a criminal. Can't we come to some kind of agreement?"

"I'm listening."

The Merchant thought frantically, "I'll tell you how to open a breach. I'll tell you how to get to your friends."

Sisko shook his head even as his mind raced.

He had to play this correctly if he was to keep the upper hand.

Hern's apparent claustrophobia had been a bonus and, though he disliked using what amounted to little more than a Cardassian torture technique, he knew that if he kept the man locked up for long enough he would soon tell him everything he needed to know.

He made to turn away again, wondering how far he could push things.

The Merchant thrust out a hand to stop him leaving and yelped in pain as the forcefield crackled around his fingers.

He snatched his singed hand back and looked at the man before him, "Our ship. In exchange for a ride home and our freedom we'll tell you how to open the breach and give you our ship."

Sisko looked at him, long and hard, his eyes burning through him.

"It must be of _some_ use to you…"

Sisko continued to stare at him.

"We'll throw in the shuttle, too…"

Sisko smiled softly to himself. They had offered him everything they had. There was nothing left to bargain for.

He knew that Dax would do her level best to decipher the workings of the shuttle's computer, but he had no right to expect miracles from her.

If she delivered, all the better, but it would be good to have something to offer her in the way of help.

He paced the floor between the cell and the outer door, more for show than any real need to think, then stopped in front of the prisoners once more, "Very well. _If _we find our crew alive and well, you go free. If not…I bring you back here and you spend the rest of your lives being transferred from a Bajoran prison to a Federation prison. And if you step out of line in the _slightest_ I will send you to a _Dominion_ prison. And nobody gets transferred from there."

Hern swallowed nervously, "Agreed."

With a nod, the Captain turned to Andrews, "Let him out, Ensign."

"Yes, sir." Jill rose and keyed the control pad.

With a flicker, the force field dropped and Hern stepped out with as much of his shredded dignity in tact as he could muster.

Andrews raised the field again before his associate could join them and smiled at the younger man's frustrated scowl, "I don't think it takes two to work a computer, do you?"

Without a word he flopped back down on the bunk and stared at the ceiling.

Andrews and Sisko escorted Hern out of the cell block and into her office.

With a little push, Sisko made the Merchant sit at the desk as Jill locked out all critical systems on the off chance that this man had more knowledge than he was letting on, and ordered the computer to begin recording.

With a nervous glance at the two grim looking people before him, Hern swallowed and began to speak.

An hour later he sat back in the chair with an exhausted sigh, his lips dry, his throat sore, "That's everything, I swear it."

The Captain looked closely at him then gave a short nod, "Fine. Return him to his cell, Ensign."

He only let the smile play along his lips when the two were out of sight, then tapped his comm. badge, "Sisko to Dax."

"Dax here." She sounded exhausted and he knew that she had probably all but taken the shuttle apart in her bid for answers, "You'll have to give me more time, Benjamin…"

"No need. Patch into the computer in Security and hold on to your hat. I think you're going to love this…"

* * *

Hours later, Jadzia Dax straightened up with a groan and clamped her hands to the small of her back, attempting to ease the cramped muscles.

She had been bending over the Merchant computer for far too long and would pay for it in the morning.

The price was more than worth it, though.

After hours of painstaking work with a system she barely understood she had been ready to give up.

Then Benjamin had called and she had spent more precious time downloading data from Andrews' computer, reading it with widening eyes and a growing smile.

After that it had not taken long to made a breakthrough.

She finally had something to take to Benjamin which would, she hoped, return the smile to his face for good - once she had explained to him exactly _what_ she had found.

And that was the part she was looking forward to.

She began to gather up her equipment, packing it carefully away, checking each padd in turn, allowing a contented hum of a half remembered tune to leave her lips even as a gravelly voice stroked her mind, _"Let's not get carried away again, Jadzia. You've still got to find them," _chided Curzon.

Jadzia waved an impatient hand, "We'll find them - and we'll find them alive. I know it."

She grinned as she sensed her past host's discomfort, "Relax. A few hours ago we had no idea how to get to them. Now…? Luck's on our side, Curzon. We're going to win this one."

She slung her equipment bag over her shoulder. There were just a few more things to check before she left the ship and headed for Ops.

* * *

By the time Dax tumbled off the turbolift the others were already there, seated round the Ops table; Baskell and Andrews looking extremely nervous with Captain Sisko seated between them.

Jadzia flashed the young officers a beaming smile before taking her seat and dropping a padd onto the table.

She let her gaze travel in an exaggerated circuit of Ops, "Is the Colonel not joining us?"

Sisko shook his head, his jaw set, "The Colonel is in his quarters waiting on the next shuttle back to Bajor."

Jadzia grinned and it was all Dax, "Couldn't hack it?"

The Captain didn't smile - it would be unprofessional, "He objected to his verbal humiliation at the hands of a junior officer."

Andrews blushed as Dax turned the grin on her, "Shame on you!"

"I," Sisko raised his voice ever so slightly, "will no doubt receive an official complaint from the First Minister," he tapped the padd, "who will hopefully then withdraw said complaint when we get Kira back."

He allowed his crew to grin at one another for a moment before locking his eyes on Dax, "Well?"

She picked up the padd and scanned her copious notes, "I studied everything Hern told us and compared it with what I had already learned. You realise, that in a Merchant ship, this is little more than a suicide mission."

Sisko looked at her, "How so?"

Dax keyed a code into the Ops console and a three dimensional hologram sprang up before them.

Sisko eyed the complex jumble of molecules and equations playing out their own personal scenarios before him and raised an eyebrow, "Let's pretend I don't understand what we're looking at in the slightest, Old Man."

She smiled fondly, "If you insist, Benjamin. This diagram shows the expected effect of opening a breach on the warp and impulse drives of a ship."

Three blank faces looked at her and waited.

She sighed, "Well, using one of _our_ ships, the very act of opening a breach would involve introducing one of these crystals…" she fished one of Andrews' confiscated crystals out of her equipment bag and held it up for all to see, "…into the matter/antimatter containment field."

Baskell raised a cautious hand, "Sorry, Commander, but _into_ the containment field?"

She nodded and he frowned, "But isn't that slightly dangerous?"

Dax grinned openly, "Just ever so. The Merchant ship is capable of Warp 3 - 4 at a push, but as far as I can tell, they have no antimatter and no dilithium in the system."

Sisko held up his hands, "If they have no antimatter, how do you know we would have to introduce the crystal into the containment field?"

She had been waiting for one of them to ask; had been almost bouncing in her seat with contained excitement, "Because as far as I can tell, this is crystallised antimatter."

They opened their mouths as one, all ready to speak.

Then, as one, they closed them again, realising they didn't know what to say and Dax chuckled softly at the collective goldfish impression.

Sisko broke the silence, watching her carefully, "I beg your pardon?"

She raised an eyebrow, "Don't look at me that way, Benjamin. I'm not making this up. This crystal is naturally controlled and contained antimatter."

"So how do the Merchants harness it?"

"They don't. According to their computer, they burn the crystals through the engine core and channel the explosion back out through a second crystal which is tuned to resonate at a certain frequency. The reaction literally rips a hole in space."

He looked at her, "And exactly how safe is that?"

"In a Merchant vessel?" she shrugged, "It's a lottery. Hern didn't say how many ships they've lost using this method of exploration, but I doubt many have completed a successful journey. They're flying on luck."

Baskell frowned, "That explains why the scouts are unmanned."

Sisko nodded thoughtfully, "Obviously using Hern's ship to open the breach is out of the question. We need a stronger ship to get us through."

Andrews mentally ran through the ships at their disposal and offered cautiously, "We could requisition the Hercules. She's the toughest ship we have in dock."

Sisko looked pointedly at the young Security Chief, "Do you want to be the one who explains to Starfleet how we pulled the strongest ship in the fleet away from her assignment and blew her to pieces in a rescue effort based on the word of two strangers who have done nothing but lie to us since the moment we met?"

A hand touched his arm, "You need to breathe now, you've gone blue."

He glared, "Thank you, Dax."

The Trill wasn't phased, "She's right, though, Benjamin, we could make this work. Our shielding is so far in advance of theirs it's laughable. With a few modifications, I'm sure we could even send a _runabout_ through. The Hercules has metaphasic shielding - she shouldn't get a scratch on her."

He sat back and waited, "Explain it to me."

"If we boosted the containment field through the warp buffer and channelled the crystal energy out through the deflector array and _into_ the shields, we'd be protected from any feed back from the reaction that might…well…blow us up…"

"…right…"

"And the whole reaction would leave a boosted ion trail for us to follow home. Like a trail of bread crumbs."

Dammit, he had no idea what she was talking about! But he knew her well and she would not lie and past experience had warned her off of making boastful claims for personal gain.

If she said it was possible, he believed her, "And you could adapt the Hercules to do this?"

"Yes. Easily."

"Easily?"

She shrugged, "_Quite _easily."

"You've been thinking about this for a while, haven't you?"

"I've made a few notes, yes."

With a sharp clap of his hands, Sisko pushed himself off his stool and stood up, "She's due to disembark in an hour. If we're going to take her, I'll have to talk to her Captain now."

"Captain Porter?"

"Right."

Dax stifled a grin, "If I remember correctly, she doesn't exactly like you."

He stopped, "Right."

"We're going to have one hell of a job getting her to agree to this."

Sisko gave her a boyish smile and almost swaggered as he headed for the turbolift, "Oh, I don't know. Marion Porter is a handsome woman. I'll use charm, charisma, bribery…threats…"

The comm. channel chirruped and a familiar gruff voice called across Ops, "Worf to Deep Space Nine."

Dax grinned openly, "Or you could use the Defiant."

"Yes…I suppose I could do that instead."

* * *

Worf listened quietly as Sisko outlined the plan to him, a scowl deepening on the big Klingon's face as he learned of the runabout's possible plight.

When the Captain had finished speaking, he turned slate black eyes on him and growled, "These Merchants are without honour. They have lied already - how do we know we can trust them?"

Sisko watched the Klingon carefully, knowing that the man would dearly love a moment or two alone with their prisoners to ascertain for himself whether or not they were telling the truth, "They're a long way from home, Mr Worf and don't cope well with incarceration. Besides, they'll be going with you. If they have lied about the workings of the breach, they'll be just as dead as everyone else."

Worf wasn't convinced, "It may be a ruse. A Klingon warrior would willingly die if it meant taking his enemy with him."

The Captain smiled, "Believe me, Commander, these are _not_ Klingon warriors."

Worf's scowl deepened as he considered his options, "Very well, Captain. The Defiant will be ready to leave within the hour. I suggest a minimal crew compliment - just in case."

"Agreed. I'll leave that to you. As long as you include Dax, Andrews and Baskell on your list."

"Sir?"

Sisko grinned, "They've been right about this affair all along, Mr Worf. We may as well let them finish what they started."

* * *

The Defiant pulled away from Deep Space Nine ten minutes ahead of schedule and Sisko watched her go from the upper walkway of the Promenade.

With most of senior staff gone the bustling station felt unusually quiet.

He watched the ship execute a tricky manoeuvre round one of the upper pylons, tumbling into a graceful roll as she headed out into space and knew that Dax was at the helm.

One last little memory to add to the others - just in case.

He felt a presence at his shoulder and turned to see Quark gazing out of the window at the departing ship, "No consideration for others, that's her trouble."

"I beg your pardon?"

Quark gestured at the upper pylon, "Could have taken the whole thing off doing that. A move like that could frighten off my customers."

An explosion of light dazzled them both and they watched as the wormhole flowered open.

The Defiant seemed to pause at the lip of the rift and then there was a second eruption of light as the crystals were pumped into the matter/antimatter stream and space was torn open to form a breach

Sisko held his breath as the little ship juddered, her shields sparking as ejected energy poured through them.

She remained silhouetted against the dual brightness for an agonising second before disappearing into the breach.

The wormhole closed a second later and all was still.

Quark sniffed and started to walk off, "I'll stop her credit. That's what I'll do. I'll stop her credit. Teach her to scare away my customers."

Sisko let his gaze travel back to where the Defiant had been. And waited.

* * *

Martin Baskell sat at tactical and gripped onto his console for dear life as the Defiant bucked and jumped and threatened to shake herself to pieces.

If the plan had failed, he hoped someone would tell him soon.

There were last words to plan and regrets to voice and he would rather not do it screaming silently in the void of space as the remains of the ship floated away around him.

He looked around at his crew mates.

Worf was in the Captain's seat, his large knuckles whitening as his grip on the leather armrests deepened.

His face was set and he never once moved his gaze from the swirling maelstrom of colour that invaded the viewscreen.

Andrews was manning the sensors, her arms all but hugging the console, her teeth gritted as she tried to run some kind of scan and stay in her seat at the same time.

And Dax was wrestling with the helm, the smug grin she had worn since her little manoeuvre round the upper pylon long gone.

In its place was a look of intense concentration as she entered command after command into the shrieking machinery, never knowing whether any of them were heeded.

An interminable length of time passed and Baskell heard Andrews cal out, her voice shaking with each lurch of the ship, "Sir…hull integrity… falling…"

Worf's voice was almost steady, "More power to the shields. Increase power to emergency external forcefields."

Andrews stabbed at her console, her skin taking on a slightly green hue as the Defiant rolled of her own accord, "Aye, sir!"

The Defiant continued to shudder and Worf finally tore his gaze away from the screen and shouted at the back of Dax's head, "How much longer?"

Dax's voice was almost lost in the cacophony of noise, "One more minute then deactivate the matter/antimatter converter."

It was the longest minute of Baskell's life and he was glad to see he wasn't the only one looking a little queasy when the ship finally broke through the breach and into normal space.

He ran a quick systems check and muttered, "Going through the wormhole was never this bad."

Worf straightened in his seat and looked across at Andrews, "Begin scans, Ensign."

Jill blinked through tears of nausea and peered at her console, "Aye, sir."

"Mr Baskell!" Martin looked at the big Klingon, "Go to the brig and check on the prisoners. Bring them to the bridge."

Baskell nodded and headed below.

As he left the bridge Andrews called out, "There's a class M planet on short range sensors, sir."

Dax's hands were flying over her console, "Course laid in."

Worf nodded, "Are there any signs of other ships?"

Andrews shook her head, "Not that I can tell although…just a minute.." she frowned down at her console then looked up with a grin, "I'm reading a faint ion trail leading down into the atmosphere. The runabout came this way."

Worf settled back in his chair with a small smile, "Dax, take us in."

* * *

The Palace was larger than it looked and Kira, Odo, O'Brien and Jhemor had taken one too many wrong turns for comfort.

They had done nothing to hide their flight, screaming and yelling to everyone they met that they had to evacuate the building - that there was going to be an explosion.

Some-one, somewhere was quick to catch on to the panic and hit an alarm, the klaxon blaring through the halls in anachronistic counterpoint to the almost primitive setting.

It was for that reason that the foursome found themselves being carried along on a tide of running bodies to the main exit.

They burst through the doors together and didn't stop.

The forest looked awfully appealing when set against the alternative. Pushing through the sea of bodies around them, they ran.

Marius leapt down the front steps in one bound and watched the little group as they headed for the cover of the forest.

He had heard the klaxon and, like them, found himself carried along in the rush to escape.

Once outside, he let his gaze dart from face to face in the milling crowd, looking for the High Lord.

If Taren was there he was hiding well. Which more than likely meant…

With a growl of anger he turned and forced his way back up the steps, pushing and shoving people out of his way, occasionally grabbing the front of a shirt and demanding to know where the High Lord was.

If anyone knew, they weren't telling.

He found himself back in the halls just as a flustered Garus hurtled round a corner and almost knocked him off his feet, "Marius! What in the name of profit is going on?"

Marius pushed him aside, "I have no idea. Where's Taren?"

Garus shook his head as he carried on running, "I thought he was with you." And he was gone.

For just a second, duty and honour fought for dominance in the mind of the overseer. It was not a sensation he cared for.

Every instinct was telling him to run, whilst duty told him to find his Lord and get him to safety.

Marius had survived on instinct for a long time. He didn't intend to stop now.

With a final glance down the now deserted hallway, he turned and ran back outside.

He may not be able to save Taren from whatever was about to happen, but he could tie up one final piece of unfinished business.

With pleasure.

* * *

Lars watched quietly as Marius passed him, just as he had watched Odo and his friends pass moments before.

Without a word, he snatched up a fallen disruptor abandoned in panic by one of the palace guards and set off after the overseer.

* * *

Far above the planet, the Defiant slid smoothly into orbit.

"Orbit achieved," announced Dax just as Baskell reappeared on the bridge with two security guards, Hern and his associate herded before them.

The smaller man caught his breath at the view on the screen, "… we're home…"

Hern silenced him with a glare and turned to Worf, his eyes widening.

Having only met the Klingon once whilst being transferred to the Defiant's brig, he still had trouble equating the deviant before him with a man, "Well, devi.. Mr Worf… I believe we have fulfilled our side of the bargain. I will thank you to let us go."

Worf turned his best stare on the man, satisfied when he shrank back a step, "You have fulfilled nothing - we have yet to fond our colleagues. You will tell us where the runabout landed."

"I…"

Worf let the stare intensify, "And you will tell us now."

Hern tried his hardest to return the glare and failed miserably, "The northern hemisphere, smallest continent. Use your sensors. You'll find only one major power source. That's the palace - it's a good place to start."

The Klingon glanced across at Andrews who nodded, "He's right, sir. I've transferred the co-ordinates to the transporter room."

Worf stood, tugging briefly at his uniform top in an unconscious effort to straighten it, "Very well," he raised his head slightly, tapping his comm. badge, "Relief crew to the bridge. Dax, Andrews, Baskell, you will join me on the away team. Security - return the prisoners to the brig."

* * *

Down on the planet's surface, no-one noticed when, minutes later, four iridescent columns of light solidified into the forms of the four Starfleet officers.

While Worf and Dax were immediately on the alert for danger, Andrews and Baskell activated their tricorders and began to scan the surrounding countryside.

If the situation were different, Dax would have commented on the beauty of their surroundings; the rolling hills edged by the beginnings of a forest.

As it was, she knew that somewhere out there were her friends and she swore under her breath to find them.

She turned to Worf, "We should split up. The less time we have to be here the better."

He nodded, "I agree. You and Andrews go east, Baskell and I will go west. You are to check in every fifteen minutes."

"Understood."

With Andrews in tow, she jogged off towards the nearest trees, intent on following the path through the forest.

Worf and Baskell walked in silence for a few minutes, cresting the first of the hills as the tricorder began to beep.

Martin studied the readout and looked up at the Klingon, "I'm picking up a signal from the Amazon…it's fluctuating…it's…" he gazed at the instrument with a puzzled frown, realisation dawning, "Sir, it's set to self destruct!"

Worf looked at him in alarm, his hand automatically reaching for his phaser, "Where?"

Baskell tapped the screen in frustration as the readings fluctuated and reset, "I'm not sure…I think it's coming from…"

An almighty explosion rumbled across the countryside sending birds screeching to the sky along with a huge mushroom of smoke and debris.

Baskell pointed, "There."

* * *

They had almost reached the forest's edge when the explosion hit.

The runabout countdown hit zero and the little ship blew itself to pieces in a spectacular fire display which demolished half of the palace.

The concussion wave swept through the crowd outside the building, knocking them as one to the ground.

Far too many didn't get up again as debris rained down on them.

As she watched Odo, O'Brien and Jhemor disappear past the first tree, Kira felt the heat of the blast hit her and the next thing she knew, she was face down in the dirt with a few other souls, nursing yet another headache.

She lifted her head and tried to call out to her friends, but they were already gone, unaware that she had fallen.

Pushing herself to her feet she tried to remember exactly where they had been heading and set off after them at a slow jog.

A little way behind her, Marius grinned as he brushed himself down. He had seen the others disappear into the trees, he had seen the deviant fall.

And he had seen her set off along the wrong forest path, her sense of direction knocked sideways by the blast.

This was going to be a lot easier than he had imagined.

Ignoring the calls of the wounded, frightened Merchants as they tried to come to terms with the devastation that was their world, he gave the burning remains of the palace a final, snarling look then ran off after Kira.

* * *

Dax and Andrews had instinctively taken cover at the sound of the explosion, unsure what would happen next.

Andrews' tricorder readings had echoed those of Baskell and they knew that the blast could only have been the death throes of the Amazon.

They just had to hope that there had been no-one aboard when she finally blew.

Once they were sure that no other blasts would follow, the two women continued their slow walk along the forest path, Andrews taking constant readings and calling out the results to her commander.

It was her whispered cry of, "Company!" that had them both diving off the track and into the cover of the undergrowth as three figures left the forest and jogged past.

Dax allowed her head to peek up as she spied a very familiar set of simulated Bajoran boots.

Her voice almost breaking she stumbled from her hiding place and called, "Odo! Chief!"

The threesome ground to a halt and turned to face her and she grinned through the tears as the ruddy face of Miles O'Brien gaped in shock as he walked slowly towards her, "Dax! Dax, is that you?"

Then she was caught up in an all too welcome bear hug, unable to draw breath as she gasped, "It's me! Oh, it's so good to see you."

He released her and she wiped a hand across her streaming eyes before looking him up and down with a broad smile, "I like the dress - very fetching."

He tried to glower at her, but didn't quite pull it off. The relief was too intense to be broken.

"How did you find us?" asked Odo as he shook the Trill's hand with his usual reserve.

Dax sniffed, "It's a long story. We saw the explosion and…" she glanced back along the road, "…isn't Kira with you?"

O'Brien and Odo looked at each other and the engineers face was grim, "We got split up back at the palace. She has to be round here somewhere."

A frantic groan from behind the Changeling drew Dax's attention to the third member of the party as a young boy hopped from foot to foot with impatience.

He tapped the Chief on the shoulder and pursed his lips, "We've got to _go_, Mr 'Brien, yes we have. She won't be on the road where all the people can see her. She's not _stupid, _no she's not."

Dax watched in fascination as O'Brien placed a fatherly arm around the scrawny shoulders and said, "It's all right, Jhemor…"

A loud disruptor blast cut off his words as it echoed through the trees behind them.

Without a word, he and Odo took off through the trees, Jhemor close behind them.

Andrews and Dax drew their phasers and tried to keep up.

* * *

Kira hadn't gone far before she realised she was heading in the wrong direction.

The few people who had followed her were gone - familiar with the terrain and off in search of bolt holes - and she was alone.

She stopped running and dropped to her knees by a fallen tree, her breath coming in heaving gulps as she tried to get her bearings.

She knew the others would come and look for her once they realised she was missing.

Perhaps it would be best to stay where she was and wait for them rather than wander around in circles for hours on end.

A twig snapped behind her and she span round to face Marius.

He was glaring at her with a fury which plunged new depths and she got slowly to her feet and clenched her fists at her side.

He stepped towards her, "If I were you, Deviant, I would start running."

Kira shook her head, "I won't play your game. I'm not afraid of you."

The tremor in her voice betrayed her and he laughed in her face, "Fine. Then we end this here."

With a flick of the wrist there was a knife in his hand.

Kira stared at the well honed blade, took one look at the hate in his eyes and bolted.

With a snarl, Marius charged after her, hunting her through the trees.

Kira ran like she had never ran before. She could hear Marius crashing through the undergrowth behind her and didn't look back.

Flashback to fifteen years ago - running scared through Tahna's Canyon with six Cardassian soldiers on her trail.

A different kind of fear, though - she knew that Shakaar was waiting on the ridge with twenty of her friends; that as soon as she cleared the valley the Cardassians would be dead.

This time there was no-one waiting to open fire.

Her friends were gone, the runabout destroyed. There was no way home and she mustn't slow down.

This was not Bajor, though, and she was running through unfamiliar territory. She had no idea where she was going whilst Marius had been born here.

It didn't take long for him to work his way in front of her.

She burst through a patch of brambles, the barbs tearing at her legs and snagging the hem of her tunic. She tugged it free with a curse and turned to run again.

The next thing she knew, she was flat on her back in the dirt having charged headlong onto the overseer's fist as he stepped out of hiding in front of her.

With a gasp of pain, she scrambled backwards, desperate to get away from him.

A day ago he would have mocked her; played with her like a cat cornering a mouse.

A day ago he was confident of his place in the world and knew that he was free to bully her and sure to win.

Now everything had changed and some-one had to pay. He tightened his grip on the dagger and stalked towards her.

Her head spinning, Kira scuttered back even faster, her hands scrabbling along the forest floor, unable to regain her footing before he was on her again.

He bore down like a maniac and raised the knife for the killing blow.

Her fingers closed round a fallen branch and she swung her arms up and clubbed him on the side of the head with all her strength.

He fell back with a roar of fury and Kira was up and running again.

Marius shook his head sharply as if to dislodge the pain and glared at her retreating back.

Weighing his aim carefully, he flung the dagger.

Kira was almost in the dense safety of the trees when the blade hit, tearing across the back of her leg in a line of fire before lodging itself in the ground.

She tried to carry on running, knowing that if she fell she was dead, but her legs were like jelly and gave way beneath her.

She cried out, half in pain, half in fury as she hit the forest floor, despising herself for giving him such an easy target.

She _knew_ his abilities; _knew_ he would deliver a killing blow to the back if the opportunity arose. She knew that he had no honour and yet she had turned her back on him when the advantage had been hers.

Never again.

She despised Marius with an almost equal fervour to which her hatred for the Cardassians coursed through her veins.

She had done nothing to deserve the treatment he had heaped on her. She had given him no reason to despise her and yet he had taken it upon himself to brutalise her, to try and break her spirit.

Until now, she didn't realise how close he had come to succeeding.

Watching herself running from a man she could have tackled easily back on the station; watching herself cower from him as he lived out his sick fantasies through her, she felt the white heat of rage engulf her like a flame.

She had fought through pain before, she would do it again.

And if it meant killing this obnoxious brute of a man with her bare hands, then so be it.

She heard Marius come up behind her and pluck the dagger from the ground. She felt him lean over her, and grasp a handful of hair, ready to tug her head back and place the blade at her throat.

Gathering her strength, she made her move.

With a grunt of effort she flipped her body over, taking advantage of his precarious balance and slammed a foot into his gut, knocking him to the ground.

Favouring her uninjured leg, she scrambled to her feet and plucked the dagger from his hand before he had time to think.

She was on him in a second as he rolled over and tried to get up.

Mimicking his cruelty, she grasped a large clump of his hair in her fist and snapped his head back.

He gasped as she pressed the blade to his throat, "…Creator…"

His eyes were wide - terrified wide as he tried to prize her fingers from the knife with no success.

Kira glared down at him with contempt as a whimper of fear escaped his lips.

All the things he had done - all the acts of brutality he had spearheaded and he couldn't meet his own death with dignity.

She despised him so deeply she could taste it.

She had killed before - too many times before - both in self defence and in anger and a little part of her had been lost with every death.

She had thought those times long behind her. She had thought that her days of hating and vengeance were gone.

Now she stood with a knife to the throat of an unarmed man as he prayed to his god and she saw those days pouring back into her. And it was frightening.

She felt her grip tighten on his hair as he tried to pull away; felt the dagger strong in her hand as she raised it for the killer strike, knowing how good it would feel to beat him this once and final time.

Knowing how disappointed Sisko would be if he were here watching.

In her mind, she could see the expression in his dark eyes as he slowly shook his head, willing her to do the right thing and the fury left her as quickly as it had arrived.

She relaxed her grip on his hair, the blade hanging loose in her hand.

Marius didn't need to be offered a second chance.

Ramming his elbow back into Kira's stomach, he turned and twisted the knife from her unresisting grasp as she fell back with a gasp.

In a second he was kneeling over her, his hand gripping the back of her head, pulling her towards him in a cruel parody of a lover's embrace, the dagger descending on her once more, "Should have killed me when you had the chance, deviant. I never figured you for the squeamish type."

As the blade pressed against her throat, Kira made peace with the Prophets and closed her eyes.

There was a rustle in the undergrowth and Marius spun round, his fingers winding painfully through her hair, "Who's there?"

Lars stepped into the open, the disruptor nestled in the crook of his arm.

He smiled, "It's only me."

Kira moaned as Marius scowled briefly at the farmer before turning his full attention back to her and she waited for death.

It never came.

Instead Lars' steady voice echoed through her aching head and she opened her eyes to see him aiming the disruptor at Marius' head from close range, "Drop the knife."

Marius growled, "What do you think you're doing, farmer."

Lars' aim didn't waver, "Conscience is a strange thing, Overseer, it bothers you at the most inconvenient times," he gave a small smile, "I don't suppose you've ever had that problem. Now drop the knife and step away from her."

Marius released his grip on Kira's hair and she fell back with a hiss of pain.

He pointed the knife at her as he appealed with Lars, "You've seen what she's done. You've seen what she's responsible for. Life was good before she came along…"

"Life was good for _some_ of us."

"For the people who matter, yes."

The farmer let out a long breath and shook his head, "Well, that's the problem. _Everyone_ matters, Marius, and whatever you think she's done, you've more than punished her for."

He snarled and glared down at the Bajoran as she turned and tried to crawl away, "I've barely started."

In a flash, he had her hair in his hand again and tugged her up onto her knees, holding the dagger in front of her eyes, smiling as she moaned in pain and fear.

Taking another step forward, Lars primed the disruptor, "Don't make me do this."

Marius curled his lip in an arrogant sneer, "What are you going to do, little man?" and raised the dagger.

Lars shot him in the chest.

With a startled, disbelieving laugh as his ribs blossomed open like an obscene flower, Marius fell to the ground, his dead eyes gazing at nothing as his final breath rattled in his throat.

For a moment there was silence.

She didn't know for how long he stood there in silence, going over what he had done, but eventually Lars lowered the disruptor and walked towards a somewhat groggy Kira, kneeling next to her, "It's all right, deviant, he's dead."

She tried to take in what he was saying, her eyes never leaving the dead body of the overseer.

He was going to get up. If she looked away he was going to get up and kill them both.

There was a crashing of undergrowth and O'Brien burst through followed by Odo and Jhemor…and Dax!

Thank the Prophets. If Dax was here, then maybe everything was going to be all right.

Unless this was an hallucination. Unless Marius had hit her harder than she thought and she was concussed.

She watched as the please-don't-be-an-illusion Trill and a young security officer aimed their phasers at Lars and told him to move away.

Lars nodded slowly and got to his feet. Would he do that for an hallucination? Would he drop the disruptor and raise his hands for an hallucination?

She heard herself call to them and tell them it was okay.

She saw Lars lower his hands and saw Dax run across the clearing towards her. And she was _real_.

She blinked up at the Trill and tried to get to her feet, but Dax pushed her down with one gentle hand and scanned her with a medical tricorder, "Can't leave you alone for a minute, can we?"

And she smiled a laser beam smile.

Kira did the only thing she could think of; she wrapped her arms round her friend's waist and hugged her as tightly as she could, "It's good to see you too, Dax."

A hypospray hissed against her neck as the Trill pulled carefully away, "This should make you feel better until we can get you home."

Home.

She looked across at O'Brien as he stood with one hand on Jhemor's shoulder and their eyes met in a moment of understanding.

Although they had never said it out loud, they had both accepted that they would never see home again - whether home be Earth or Bajor or an old Cardassian mining station - and now Dax was here talking about it as if it were just round the corner.

Home.

There would be no more hunger, no more pain, no more fighting to stay alive.

She gazed across at Marius' corpse, "Is he dead?"

O'Brien nodded, "Very."

"I don't believe it…I don't believe it…"

She got slowly to her feet, waving away Dax's offer of help and walked across the clearing.

Setting her jaw, she stood over the mutilated body and glared at the dead eyes, fury building, burning inside her soul and on her face, her fists clenched tight. O'Brien touched her gently on the shoulder, "Leave it, Major. It's over."

"Yeah…" She stepped back from the body and turned away, realising that everyone was watching her, "yeah, it's over."

But she didn't believe the words.

Odo watched as Kira struggled to control her feelings, to exorcise demons which had been her constant companion these last few days.

He knew how close they had come to losing her and was all at once eternally grateful to the man he had taken his friendship from and banished from his life.

He watched Lars watching the scene before them and said, "Why?"

The farmer turned to face him and raised an eyebrow.

Odo looked at him, "Why did you help her? Why did you kill Marius? You could have murdered her and gone on with your life. No-one would ever have known."

Lars lowered his eyes and shook his head sadly, "_I_ would have known. Is that all you think of me?"

When Odo didn't answer he looked up again, "It was too big a debt to ever repay, my friend. I can't stand the thought of my boy looking up to people like him."

He glanced with distaste at Marius, then returned his gaze to his one time friend, "Until now, though, I didn't realise there were people like you around."

He stooped down and retrieved the disruptor, handing it to the Changeling, "I'm sorry, Odo. I'm sorry for what I did. Whatever you decide to do about it…I won't fight you…"

Odo took the disruptor and passed it quickly to Andrews, "The law on this world is nothing to do with me."

He looked closely at the man before him and let his gruff voice soften, "Though, for what it's worth, I shall speak up for you should the need arise."

With a sigh of relief, Lars smiled at him and for a moment Odo saw the decent man who had won his friendship so easily.

He hoped he was not being deceived again.

A familiar and much missed chirrup cut through his chain of thought as Dax's comm. badge beeped and a gravily Klingon voice said, "Worf to Dax."

She smiled as Jhemor jumped at the unnatural sound, "Go ahead."

"Ensign Baskell and I are at the site of the explosion. There are many people here but we have yet to find…"

She cut him off with a grin, "It's okay, Worf, we've found them."

She could almost see him frowning, "You have?"

"We have. We'll join you in a few minutes. Dax out."

She turned to speak to the others but was interrupted by a small hand tugging at her sleeve as Jhemor peered up at her, "'Scuse me."

She smiled, "Yes?"

"Why'd you talk to your chest?"

Dax glared at O'Brien as he laughed out loud and she stooped lower to whisper into the boy's ear, "Because it's the only way I'm guaranteed intelligent conversation."

Jhemor frowned as he followed his friends through the forest and back towards the palace, "Oh…oh…okay…"

O'Brien's hearty laugh echoed through the trees as if daring fate to throw any more challenges at them.

* * *

Okay, guys, twelve down, one to go. Chapter Thirteen is the last part - promise!

Thanks to all of you who've stuck with it this far. All comments are welcome.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Worf and Baskell were waiting for them at the edge of the forest, hidden from sight as they watched the activity before them.

The palace was in ruins.

The entire east wall had been blown out as the runabout exploded, huge chunks of debris marring the once perfect grounds outside.

Flames could be seen flickering from the demolished interior, the sparking of burning circuitry mingling with the crackle of wood and cloth.

Baskell grinned openly at the little group as they approached, keeping low to avoid detection.

His smile faltered as he saw Kira's bruises, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

Worf, ever the Klingon officer, merely nodded, an eyebrow raised as Jhemor stifled a squeak of shock at his appearance and buried his head in O'Brien's arms.

As Kira crouched down next to the impassive Klingon and listened to his report, she reflected that this was one of the times she had trouble believing Dax's insistence that he was a 'big softie' at heart.

"The explosion has destroyed the eastern wall of the building," he growled, "If there was anyone in the vicinity, they would not have survived."

He nodded toward the confused souls milling around in the debris, "There are many wounded."

It was the first time Kira had gotten a proper look at the devastation that had been the Merchant's palace.

She knew the power of a runabout on self destruct and was silently admiring of the skill of the builders.

The palace should have been so much rubble by now. There should not have been survivors.

She cast a quick look at Jhemor as he stood close at O'Brien's side and hoped against hope that he never realised that his actions had killed and maimed so many.

Giving the boy a quick smile she turned back and let her gaze take in the twisted, huddled forms on the ground around the palace.

Far too many of them were not moving and, despite the treatment she had received over the past days, she felt a pang of guilt.

If the Amazon had not been there, these people would be alive.

O'Brien saw the look on her face and placed a hand on her shoulder, "There was nothing to be done, Major. We didn't have the time."

With a set of her jaw she shook him off, "Maybe not, Chief, but we have time now. We're not leaving until we help them."

Worf looked at her in disbelief, "With respect, Major, the Prime Directive…"

Kira's anger boiled over.

Days of ill treatment, violation and hunger exploded in her eyes and she turned it on the Klingon with full force, "Don't you quote the Prime Directive to me, Mister," she hissed, "I have had it up to here with Starfleet's precious Prime Directive. There are times when your rules cannot apply. This is one of them."

He opened his mouth to disagree, to defend the people who were his life, but she cut him off with the spark of fire in her eyes as she got to her feet, "Live with it."

Worf watched for a long moment as she made her way to the grounds of the ruined palace, a limp impeding her, making her progress slower than usual.

As she passed one of the injured people, a hand reached out to her and she crouched down next to the fallen woman, a reassuring smile never quite reaching her eyes.

Without a word, the others followed her; O'Brien and the boy leading the way, Odo and Lars at their heels; all of them going to the aid of people who had never been friends, but were not quite enemies.

With an apologetic shrug, Baskell and Andrews tucked their phasers in their belts and stepped out into the open, jogging to catch up.

The Klingon growled deep in his throat and glared at Dax as she watched him carefully, "You need not look at me like that, Jadzia."

Dax placed a friendly hand on his shoulder, "We don't know the whole story, Worf. Let's not be judgmental until we have the facts."

She smiled as he sighed and got to his feet, "Besides, she's right. Starfleet are not omnipotent. There are some things they just couldn't foresee. Rules are there to guide us - they are not carved in stone."

With a very Dax-like smile, she followed the others into the grounds.

* * *

No-one paid much attention to Kira and the others as they wandered the grounds outside the ruined palace, helping where they could and despising the fact that they could not do more.

Merchants and their peasant servants alike were too caught up in their own shock to pay much attention to a band of strangers.

Until Worf stepped into the open, scowling as he followed Dax.

Then some-one screamed.

Kira's head snapped up and she glared at the approaching Klingon with far too much hostility.

She wanted to scream at him for parading himself in front of these bigoted, superstitious people; wanted to ask him what in the name of the Prophets he thought they would do to some-one with such an obvious deviancy.

Instead, she pushed herself back to her feet, ran faster than her throbbing leg could stand and threw herself in front of Worf and Dax as the first of the braver souls came looking for a scapegoat, "Leave them alone!"

She thought she recognised the man who stepped forward as one of the palace guards.

He glowered down at her, sword in one hand, disruptor in the other and curled his lip, "Move or die, deviant."

Kira stood her ground, legs like jelly in her weakened state, "What is the point of this? Look around you. Look at your palace. There are better things to do than fight. There's work to be done and these people are here to help."

She shot an impassioned glance at Lars, "Tell them!"

The farmer placed a hand on the guard's shoulder and took the disruptor from his hand, "She's right, friend. What good will it do to fight now? We have a new life to build."

The guard looked at Lars and Kira and the crowd of frightened people who had gathered to watch the scene unfold.

His eyes strayed nervously to the deviant she protected, "For as long as you help, you are welcome. Not a minute more." And he turned and stormed away.

Without a word, the crowd dispersed, huddled in groups as they waited for some-one to lead them. To tell them what to do next.

With a shuddering breath, Kira limped slowly back to the woman she had been tending and crouched down next to her.

She gently brushed a stray lock of raven black hair from the face, fixing her smile even as she took in the glazed eyes and sickly pallor, the skin cold to the touch.

With a sob, she let her hand rest on the woman's head and began to cry softly for the death of a person she had never known.

Dax saw Kira's head drop and her shoulders shake and felt a lump rise n her throat at the sight of her friend's suffering.

She badly needed to know what had happened to her and Odo and O'Brien since they had been snatched away from home, but knew this was not the time.

So she watched from a distance and prayed to every deity she could think of to give Kira the strength to endure.

A blur of movement caught her eye and she reached out in time to grab Jhemor by the arm as he tried to go to the Bajoran, "Wait."

The boy blinked up at her, "The Major Lady's _sad_."

"I know."

He tried to pull away, "She helps _me_ a lot when _I'm_ sad…"

Dax didn't loosen her grip, holding on until the boy stopped struggling, "I know that, too. And when she's feeling a little better you can go to her. I think she needs to be alone for now, though."

Jhemor frowned at her with innocent green eyes, and Dax sighed as one more unpleasant task occurred to her, "Jhemor, we have to have a little talk…"

* * *

"Deviant..!"

Kira wiped a grubby hand across her tear stained face as Garus, the High Lord's right hand man, made his way towards her.

His face was pale beneath a layer of grime, his robes a tattered mess and he had some kind of wound leaking blood through the chest of his tunic.

She turned away from him and gazed again on the peaceful face of the dead woman before her.

If she ignored him for long enough, perhaps he would go away.

Garus refused to take the hint and reached down to take Kira by the arm, "I'm talking to you, deviant."

He hadn't meant to sound so harsh.

So much had happened and he was scared to the core of his being.

Kira pulled her arm away sharply and glared at him and he backed away, his voice softer, "Where's Marius?"

She looked him in the eye with a barely contained fury, "Dead."

The man seemed to crumble before her as his eyes almost pleaded with her, "I don't know what we're going to do. The High Lord…Taren…he's missing…probably dead."

Kira stared at him in disinterest.

Marius' death had left her with a feeling of soul-deep relief.

For the first time since they had crashed on this Prophets forsaken world, she had felt safe enough not to have to keep looking over her shoulder for danger.

That Garus displayed an almost grief stricken reaction to the news of the overseer's death sickened her.

She buried her feelings deep, though, unwilling to offer any more thought to the repulsive man who had so nearly wrecked her life.

Some wounds were so painful they could only be tended in private.

She was aware that Garus expected some kind of response, but was unable to give it. So she just stared at him some more and wished he would leave her alone.

Garus watched as the deviant's eyes turned cold on him and he wondered for the first time how Marius had died.

He knew what went on within the walls of Caspii and news of this woman and her disrespect for the overseer had spread quickly.

He knew how Marius liked to bring people back into line - and his methods with women were particularly brutal - and felt no surprise that she may have exacted her revenge.

As it was, she was holding all the cards, whether she knew it or not.

Every instinct in his body was protesting as he pleaded with a woman who should have been kneeling before him in supplication, "Please, deviant… Major…we've never been without a leader before and everyone knows…everyone knows…"

She looked almost bored now as she got to her feet and began to limp away, "What do you expect me to do about it?"

"I expect you to…I expect…for the love of the Creator woman, you have to give us the boy."

She stopped now and looked at him, a dangerous scowl creeping across her face, "The boy?"

He reached out once more to take her arm, thinking better of it at the steel in her eyes.

His voice dropped to a whisper as he saw her friends watching from a distance, "You have to give us Jhemor, we _need_ him…"

She almost laughed, "You think I'm going to hand one of my friends over to the likes of you?"

She turned away and, forgetting his caution, he took her arm and pulled her back, "You don't understand…"

For a moment he thought he was dead as she spun out of his grip, her eyes flashing.

Then a shout, almost a scream of denial rent the air and he saw Jhemor running towards them, a strange woman following at a more dignified pace.

The boy threw himself into Kira's arms, almost knocking her off her feet, "Major Lady. Spotty lady says you're leaving soon. You're not leaving soon are you?"

A flood of emotion washed over her as she focused on the green eyes gazing at her in abject terror, "…Jhemor, I…"

Before she could reply, Garus had fallen to his knees before the trembling boy, "Lord!"

Jhemor and Kira stared at him, one in terror, one in confusion, as he lowered his gaze as though waiting for some kind of holy touch.

Jhemor pulled himself free of Kira's grasp and began to back away from the man, shaking his head, "You leave me alone."

She steadied him as he almost tripped over the body of the dead woman, her eyes hardening as she watched Garus get to his feet, "What do you mean?"

But the Merchant ignored her, oblivious to her presence, aware that other people were gathering to watch, their eyes focused on the one person who could bring their tattered world to rights.

Garus had been Taren's right hand man for a long time and they trusted him.

Garus held out pleading hands to the boy before him, "Taren is…your _father_ is dead. You are High Lord and we await your orders."

An uneasy murmur ran through the gathering crowd and Kira's hand tightened on Jhemor's arm as she blinked at the Merchant in shock.

He must have made some kind of mistake - taken a knock on the head during the explosion.

But when she glanced down at Jhemor as he almost hid behind her, she knew from the look on his face that it was true.

And suddenly it all made sense.

That he had lived so long in such conditions as the prison at Caspii was a miracle. Unless some-one was looking out for him, making sure that he never fought in the Arena, making sure that he had enough food.

She had put it down to the luck of the innocent; what O'Brien would call the virgins and unicorns syndrome.

Now she knew there was no luck involved and was inexplicably, completely pleased for him.

He had looked at her with such fear in his eyes when Dax had mentioned that they were leaving, that she had began to give serious thought to staying.

She could not bear the thought of being safe and well on DS9 as Jhemor starved to death on an uncaring world.

She looked closely at Garus as he waited for his new Lord to speak, "You're saying that Jhemor is High Lord?"

He nodded, "Taren is dead. He freely acknowledged this boy as his son…" He looked up as O'Brien came up behind the boy and laid a protective hand on his shoulder, "…and I thank you for the friendship you have shown to him. But you must give him to us - let him rule us as he was born to do."

O'Brien stepped up close to the man, wary of the increasingly restless crowd around him.

He held his voice in a harsh half whisper, "Do you think that's wise? Do you think these people are going to simply accept a..a half wit ex-prisoner from the cells of Caspii as their new leader?"

Garus frowned at the people around him as they shuffled and muttered to one another, "The line of succession cannot be questioned. They all know that. The rules were set long before we even arrived here."

O'Brien raised an eyebrow and looked at Kira.

Before we even arrived here?

Finally some-one was going to tell them the whole story.

He turned back to Garus just as the man stepped forward and raised his hands to the waiting crowd, "My friends!"

All eyes were fixed on him, no-one said a word, "My friends. Taren is dead - killed protecting the home and the people he loved. But I present to you his son, the new High Lord."

He reached out and tugged the cowering boy into the open, "I present to you - Jhemor. Long may he rule!"

For a long moment there was silence, then one man stepped forward, his disruptor raised, his face twisted in a scowl, "You think we'll follow _that_..?"

He fired his disruptor and the uneasy peace was shattered.

Jhemor found himself face down in the dirt as Odo appeared from nowhere and knocked him clear of the blast of energy.

Hands pulled him to his feet and he was led away from the now baying crowd by people he did not recognise.

As panic flooded his mind, wild eyes searched desperately for Kira and O'Brien, finally finding them as they pushed through the loyal few to stand at their friend's side.

As the two factions faced each other, preparing for battle, O'Brien turned on a somewhat pale Garus and exclaimed, "Perhaps you should have broken it to them a little more gently."

For a long, long moment nobody moved.

Swords and disruptors faced swords and disruptors in anachronistic harmony as friends stood ready to slaughter friends for the sake of a new leader.

The visitors from DS9 stood shoulder to shoulder in front of Jhemor, Worf, Dax, Baskell and Andrews with their phasers at the ready.

No-one knew who fired the first shot, but suddenly the man in front of Worf was dead, his body twitching with the after effects of a disruptor blast, and the battle was joined.

In the history of the universe there have been many battles, though none have been shorter.

As Worf picked off the first few men with stun shots to the chest, Jhemor broke free of all efforts to protect him and burst through the crowd to stand alone in front of friends and enemies.

Everyone froze.

And waited.

"I didn't know my father." He looked up into row upon row of faces, all capable of killing him without a second thought, "When I met him, he told me that he sent me away when I was a baby. He said I had to be protected because I was a half wit."

No-one spoke.

Jhemor took a deep breath, "I _know_ I'm a half wit, but I don't like it when people call me that, no I don't. It's just that I don't know any other words for what I am. I know you all hate me and that I find some things hard to understand, but I don't want you to all go and kill each other because of me, no I don't." He swallowed, "I may be a half wit, but even _I_ know that's wrong. That won't make things better and it would have made Taren sad."

One by one, the weapons began to fall as the boy continued to speak, "When I was growing up I always tried to be good and to be careful and to not do bad things or say bad things. That was really hard to do in Caspii, yes it was. But when I met Taren and he told me who I was, I hated him. I never hated anyone before. Not even Marius when he hurted the Major Lady and made her cry. Now my father is dead and they said I've got to be a High Lord. But I don't know _how_ to be a High Lord, and that's my fault because I'm a half wit."

With a deep breath, he straightened his shoulders and looked at the people who had declared themselves enemies, "You're probably right to get all mad and cross and ruffled over me, 'cos I only know how to be a prisoner. So if you want, you can kill me now and get it over with, then you won't have to bother killing anyone else…and that will be a good thing, yes it will…"

And just like that, he ran out of words.

Kira and O'Brien held their breath, knowing that should anyone decide to take him up on the offer, they would be powerless to help.

As with the first shot, no-one knew where the first shout came from.

But as quickly as the battle had began, it was over.

The final weapons hit the ground as some-one started to chant Jhemor's name.

The chant was taken up all through the crowd and Kira beamed with pride as an embarrassed flush crept up the boy's neck and coloured his cheeks.

The two sides merged into one and she lost track of him in a sea of admiring faces.

"Now there is a natural diplomat," said Dax at her side and the Bajoran could only nod and watch.

* * *

O'Brien found Garus sitting on a chunk of fallen debris, watching the new High Lord as he started his first day of office with a bewildered frown on his face and a look of near panic in his eyes.

The Merchant looked up and nodded to the engineer, "I didn't know he had it in him."

O'Brien snorted, "You don't know him at all, Garus, but you'd better bloody well take care of him."

Garus shrugged, "He's the High Lord. Merchants everywhere will protect him with their lives."

"That's something I wanted to talk to you about." The Chief sat down next to the Merchant, "Where are you Merchants from? We know you're not from this world…"

"It doesn't much matter." He looked at O'Brien, "You'll be gone soon. What do you care?"

A heavy footstep behind him made them turn to see Worf glowering down at Garus, Baskell and Andrews at his side, "It does matter if our ship is in danger of attack." The glower deepened and Garus flinched as the Klingon took another step forward, "What are your defences?"

Garus scrambled to his feet and backed away, "You're in no danger from us, deviant. The only ships we have on this world are for transport within an atmosphere and are hidden well. Our world is the next in this system and the last I heard they had sent their best ship through a breach to set up in business with your people."

O'Brien frowned and looked at the devastation around him, "Is this your only base?"

"No. We have palaces on all three continents, but this was the largest." His chest swelled with pride, "This was the place the High Lord called home."

Baskell stepped forward, "How long until the others realise that something's wrong here?"

Garus visibly deflated, "Months."

He sat down on the chunk of masonry once again, "Believe it or not, we love the people of this world. We didn't want to harm them. We wanted to live in peace with them. The other palaces have integrated themselves totally into the lifestyle of the natives - only a very few know of our home world - things just got a little out of hand here."

O'Brien wanted to take him by the throat and shake him, "A little! You've been acting like thought police; throwing people in prison for even _suggesting_ there may be a better way of doing things. You call that _love_?"

Garus matched his ire with a little of his own, "You've seen these people. You've seen how they live, how superstitious they are…" he pointed at Worf, "…what they think of deviants. How do you think they would react to the news that people from another world had been living amongst them - studying them?"

"They'd be bloody annoyed and rightly so."

The Merchant nodded, "And they would have attacked us and died as we protected ourselves."

O'Brien fell silent for a moment before asking, "But why keep them living in the dark ages? Why prevent them evolving? They should have moved on long ago."

Garus was not used to being questioned like this and turned his head away, unwilling to answer until Worf took him by the arm and dragged him to his feet, "You were asked a question!"

"It was a mistake," he said, "We didn't want to give them things they were not ready to discover for themselves and we got a little over enthusiastic at curbing their development. In the end it was easier to freeze them at this stage," he shrugged, "just in case."

He pulled against the painful grip on his arm to no avail, his voice rising in frustration, "We were virtually abandoned here, you know! Our only link with home was over a comm. channel and now that's gone. I don't know if they'll even bother to check on us when we don't report in."

Worf let him go with a growl of disgust, "You can report to them now," and he hit his comm. badge, "Worf to Defiant."

"Go ahead, sir."

"Beam the prisoners to these co-ordinates."

Moments later, Hern and his associate materialised before them, blinking in astonishment. Worf pushed Garus toward them, "I am sure you all have a lot to talk about."

Jhemor had managed to break free of his newly converted public and was sitting alone, Kira watching him from a distance.

Baskell stopped for a moment to look at her, unsure about the look on her face.

He had seen the same look on O'Brien's face earlier - a kind of devastated confusion. As though mind and heart were battling for control, neither really wanting to win.

It had been obvious from the start that they had become attached to Jhemor in some way - that they had been through a lot together - and he wondered whether they were on the verge of making a decision they would all regret.

Whether they were going to stay.

Deep Space Nine could not afford to lose people of their calibre. Not to guilt.

He swallowed deeply and ran to catch up with Worf, squaring his shoulders, "Commander. I would like to stay."

The big Klingon glared down at him, a puzzled frown playing across his craggy features, "What?"

"I could make a difference here. I could help."

Worf shook his head, "Mr Baskell, you must know that is out of the question. The Prime Directive applies. I cannot allow a Starfleet officer to influence the future of this world…"

Baskell couldn't believe he had heard correctly.

After all they had heard Garus say, he would not be a party to continuing the mistake, "Then with all due respect sir, I quit."

The words were out of his mouth before he had given himself time to think and he bit his lip hard.

He had given his life to Starfleet. He had surrendered his childhood to them and put his career above _everything_ else and now he was offering to throw it all away for a group of people he didn't even know?

He felt his head spin as the others looked at him in shock and in that second a pulse of excited certainty coursed through him.

He had been sure of many things in his life - his love for space travel, his love for Kate, his intense need to become a father - but they were nothing compared to this.

With Starfleet he was never going to be more than an adequate officer; one of hundreds lost in the ranks.

Here, he could make a _difference_. He could offer advice which would save lives - make lives better.

He could start again.

Dax stepped toward him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, "Martin…"

Baskell shook his head, "Please don't try to change my mind, Commander."

He unholstered his phaser, slipped his tricorder from his belt and handed them both to the Trill, "There's nothing for me back home. You know that. Kate has taken everything that I hold dear. There's nothing left."

He couldn't quite decipher the look on her face; a kind of mixture between infinite sadness and parental pride.

He placed a hand on her arm, "You helped me out once. Please don't turn your back on me now."

Dax cradled the phaser and tricorder in her hands and watched the young man closely.

He seemed to have grown a foot taller in the last few minutes and the beaten desperation she had seen in his eyes when his wife left had been replaced with a quiet determination.

She was not looking forward to explaining this to Benjamin, but knew that nothing short of stunning him would get Baskell back on the Defiant.

With a sigh she turned to Worf, "Don't you hate it when they resign on you?"

Worf glared at her, "You cannot possibly be ready to accept…"

With a smile, she placed a finger on his lips effectively startling him into silence, "Don't be such a stick in the mud."

The glare deepened with his wounded pride and she lowered her hand and whispered, "We've lost him, Worf. Give him the honour of allowing him to choose his own path."

The Klingon let his gaze move from the Trill to the human and back again.

He hated losing members of his away team, be it to death or love or quests of honour.

With a final scowl he gave a curt nod, "Very well, but you can explain it to Captain Sisko."

Martin grinned. He didn't care if it made him look younger.

Jill Andrews watched Martin closely as he closed the book on one chapter of his life and stood ready to begin another.

His defiant stance as he faced up to Dax and Worf made her proud to be called his friend and she thought back through their lives together.

From the children they had been as they stepped through the doors of the Academy, through their Cadet Cruise and brush with death at the hands of the Borg; and finally the infinite good fortune of being assigned to the same little square of space to serve out their first term as Starfleet Officers, they had been inseparable.

She had watched him fall for the acid-faced Kate and gotten him drunk when she finally left him.

She had gone to him with her insecurities and listened, teary-eyed, as he patiently told her she could do anything she turned her mind to.

She had sat with him as he studied for his first, far too early, attempt at promotion and taken him on a _very_ memorable consolation trip to Risa when the Lieutenant's pip was given to someone else.

They had grown up together and she loved him deeply.

Far too deeply to let him leave like this.

Pulling herself up to her full height she cleared her throat, willed her courage to stay with her, and addressed Worf, "Um, Commander…?"

"Ensign?"

She felt herself blush as his eyes snapped toward her, "I'll stay and keep an eye on him."

As a frustrated scowl crept across the Klingon's face she was aware of Dax smiling behind him.

The sort of knowing smile which had kept the entire station on its toes for the last few years.

"I'll resign if I have to, Sir, but…um…I figured that maybe I could be…um…stationed here, if you like, to make sure he doesn't do anything…treasonous…"

A hand touched her arm and she looked up at Martin as he gazed at her with questioning eyes, "Jill…?"

Andrews shrugged, "Well, with Odo back they're probably going to reassign me to somewhere I don't want to go. There'll be a whole new bunch of people to meet and you know I'm not very good at that kind of thing."

She smiled at him as he started to protest, "Someone has to keep you out of trouble, Martin, and besides, " she grinned, "at least here no-one will be better at my job than I am."

Worf watched them in resigned disbelief as he accepted Andrews' phaser and tricorder and attached them to his own belt.

He turned to Dax, "The Captain is not going to be pleased."

Dax smiled, "Oh, I don't know. He's always been a soppy romantic at heart - he'll love this. Eventually."

* * *

O'Brien felt a weight lift from his shoulders at the news that the two young officers would stay behind.

Though he hardly knew them, he recognised good souls when he saw them.

And good souls in Starfleet uniforms were an added bonus.

They would protect Jhemor with their last ounce of breath and now he could go home in peace.

He looked across at the lad in question, realising for the first time how small he seemed. Little more than a baby trying to fill the shoes of a man.

He was aware of Kira at his side and, as one, they went to the boy.

To say goodbye.

Jhemor looked miserably at his feet as the duo approached and the engineer laid a hand on his shoulder, "You all right, son?"

The boy nodded his head, "I'm a High Lord now, Mr 'Brien and High Lords mustn't cry, no they mustn't."

He looked up at the Chief with glistening eyes, "But you told me that it was okay to be scared if you really really had to be, so I figured that it's the same with crying. And if you really really have to cry then that's all right as long as you don't make a habit out of it all the time…"

He trailed off and let his head drop once more.

O'Brien wrapped an arm around his shoulders and hugged him close, "I'll tell you what, Jhemor."

"What?"

"Being a High Lord has its good side, you know."

Jhemor pulled out of the hug and rubbed his eyes, "It does?"

O'Brien smiled his best fatherly smile, "Sure it does! You could make it the law that if anyone feels like crying or being scared then they can. And no-one is allowed to laugh at them or tell them to pull themselves together."

The boy considered this, "I could do that?"

O'Brien hugged him once more, "That's what High Lords do, son. And you are going to be the best High Lord they've ever had."

Kira smiled at them and blinked back unexpected tears before stroking the boy's hair with a tender hand, "It won't be easy, Jhemor, but you'll have friends to help you. You'll be able to make sure that no-one is sent to Caspii again; that no-one is hurt again; that no-one is hungry again."

Jhemor looked up at her and squeezed her hand, "I'm _scared_ Major Lady."

She squeezed back, giving what she hoped was a reassuring smile, "I know you're scared, Sweetheart. That's part of life. But look behind you. Look at all those people ready to help you. Think of all the places you'll have to explore. There's so much more to a world than the inside of a prison and you've got it all to come."

"But I don't _know_ anyone," he wailed, "no I don't and they want me to do difficult things and…"

Kira reached out and tipped his chin up, forcing him to look at her, "You stopped a war with your words, Jhemor. You did the bravest thing I have ever seen. And Jill and Martin are here for you. They're _good_ people and they will never harm you. I promise."

"…stay with me…please…"

It was so nearly enough.

She blinked rapidly and drew the boy into a hug, her voice soft in his hair, "I can't stay, Jhemor. I have to go."

His bottom lip trembled as he refused to give up the fight, "You could live here…"

"I miss my friends. I miss home. I wouldn't be happy here and I know that's not what you want."

She looked deep into his eyes and saw his goodness and innocence force him to admit defeat.

He gazed back at her for a long moment with teary eyes, then drew his shoulders back and tried a half smile, "I'll miss you, Major Lady, yes I will."

"I'll miss you too, Jhemor. More than you'll ever know."

With her reserves finally spent, Kira allowed the tears, so long held in check, to course down her cheeks as she held the boy to her for the last time.

She thanked the Prophets that he had finally acknowledged she had to leave.

If he had asked her one more time, she would have stayed.

She had a feeling he knew that.

His finite patience already long since exhausted, Worf stepped forward and cleared his throat, "If you are all ready…?"

Pulling away from Jhemor, Kira and O'Brien looked at each other and nodded, stepping in front of the Klingon and the Trill, wishing it was all over.

They watched as Odo shook Lars by the hand, "Tell Darriel that I'm sorry I couldn't come back."

"I will."

The Changeling cleared his throat, a habit left over from his time as a human, "Tell him to stay away from the cliff edge and to be good."

The farmer nodded and stepped back as the Changeling looked past the new High Lord to Andrews, "You know my standards and you know my rules. Don't let me down, Ensign."

Jill shook her head, her expression serious, "I won't, sir."

She and Martin stood side by side and watched as Worf called for transport and the little group disappeared in a hazy storm of lights.

Martin placed a hand on his friend's shoulder as she blinked back tears, "You okay?"

She nodded and smiled, "I'm fine."

He looked back at the empty space where their friends had once stood, "You know, Odo didn't seem too disappointed that you stayed."

To his surprise, she chuckled softly, "I shared a little information - gave him something to remember me by…"

* * *

The Promenade was quiet as Odo stepped off of the turbolift after the debriefing with Sisko.

Although openly delighted to see his friends again, the Captain had taken a while to calm down at the news that Baskell and Andrews had stayed behind.

Odo got the feeling that Dax and Worf were going to have to do some fast talking to avoid a court martial.

Kira, O'Brien and himself had been excused duties for "at least a week" and ordered to Doctor Bashir for a full check up.

Knowing that the young doctor could not have helped him even if he needed it, Odo had headed for the turbolift citing the tying up of loose ends as his reason for leaving.

Summoning two of his deputies, he headed for Quark's, forcing down a very un-Changeling-like smile as he went.

Though the Promenade was all but deserted, the bar was bustling.

Glasses clinked and the dabo wheels span to shouts of triumph and groans of defeat.

And Quark was at the far end of the bar, deep in conversation with a man Odo recognised as one of the most prolific smugglers in the quadrant.

The reward on his head was impressive in anybody's money.

He watched as Quark showed him a green gemstone, snatching it back as the smuggler made to take it.

Instructing the deputies to keep their eyes open and stay back, he straightened his back and spread his best annoyed scowl across his face.

He walked forward as casually as possible and let a low growl build in his throat before bellowing, "Quark!"

The Ferengi almost jumped out of his skin, his eyes flying up to gaze upon a nemesis he had thought long gone, "Odo!"

Recognising the law when he saw it, the Smuggler slipped off of his bar stool and darted for the door.

Odo nodded in satisfaction as the deputies held him fast before he had gotten more than a few yards.

Andrews had been efficient in his absence and his staff were just as good as they had been when he left.

He turned back to the cowering Ferengi and held out his hand, "Give."

Quark straightened up and attempted to bluster, though they both knew it was all for show.

He dropped the gems into the Changeling's palm and scowled as Odo almost grinned, "Thank you."

Quark stepped out from behind the bar and glared up at the Constable, "One more day! Couldn't you stay dead for just one more day!"

"Not while you still have a thieving, conniving breath left in your body…no."

"Security?"

"I believe you know the way."

They left the bar as the dabo wheels continued to spin, Odo with his hand on Quark's collar; the Ferengi pleading every step of the way, "It was the deal of a life time."

"It was illegal."

"In the broadest possible sense of the word, maybe."

"In my sense of the word, definitely."

"It would have set me up for life. I would never have had to do anything illegal again."

"You're a Ferengi, Quark, it's in the genes."

"That is a scurrilous lie!"

"No it's not."

"It's good to have you back."

"You're still going to a cell."

"You are unbelievable!"

"Thank you."

"Couldn't we come to some sort of deal?"

"Not in this life…"

The End

* * *

And that's all she wrote.

You guys have been with me all through this thing and I'd like to thank you for all your wonderful reviews. Stay safe.


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